Sons of mine, I hear you thrilling
To the trumpet call of war,
Gird ye then, I give you freely,
As I give your sires before,
All the noblest of the children I in love and anguish bore.

Free in service, wise in justice,
Fearing but dishonours breath;
Steeled to suffer uncomplaining
Loss of failure, pain of death
Strong in faith which sees the issue and in hope that triumpeth.

Go, and may the God of battles
You in his good guidance keep:
And if he wisdom giveth
Unto his beloved sleep
I accept nothing asking, save little space to weep.