Day in, day out, through the long campaign,
I march in my place in the ranks;
And whether it shine or whether It rain
My good sword cheerily clanks;
It clanks and clangs in a lordly way,
Like the ring of an armed heel:
And this is the song which day by day
It sings with its lips of steel:

“Oh, friend from whom, a hundred times,
I have felt the steadfast grip
Of the all-renouncing love that climbs
The heights of fellowship,
Are you tired with treading the weary miles,
Are you faint with your bleeding limbs?
Do you hunger back for the olden smiles,
And the sound of the olden hymns?

“Has your heart grown weak since the radiant hour
When you leaped with a single bound
From your dreamy ease to the sovereign power
Of a living soul world-crowned?
Behold! the aloes of sacrifice
Are better than any wine;
And the bloody sweat of a Cause like this
Is an agony divine.

“Under the wail of the shuddering world,
Amoaning for its dead sons:
Over the bellowing thunders hurled
From the throats of wrathful guns;
Above the roar of the plunging line
That rocks with the fury of hell,
Runs the absolute voice— ’0 Earth of mine,
Be patient, for all is well!’”

Thus sings my sword to my soul; and I,
Albeit the way is long,
And black clouds thicken athwart the sky,
Still keep my spirit strong;
For whether I live, or whether I lie
On the red ground ghastly arid stark,
Beyond the carnage I shall descry
God shining across the dark.