Beside your bitter waters rise
The Mystic Rose, the Holy Tree,
Immortal courage in your eyes,
And pain and liberty.

The stricken arms, the cloven shields,
The trampled plumes, the shattered drum,
The swords of your lost battlefields
To hopeless battles come.

And though your scattered remnants know
Their shameful rout, their fallen kings,
Yet shall the strong, victorious foe
Not understand these things:

The broken ranks that never break,
The merry road your rabble trod,
The awful laughter they shall take
Before the throne of God.