14
THE BATTLE OF LIFE.
And he flies to the onset, he charges the foe,
Where the bayonets gleam and the red tides flow;
And he bears his part in that conflict dire,
With an arm all nerve, and a heart all fire.
What though he fall! at the battle’s close,
In the flush of the victory won, he goes,
With martial music and waving plume,
From a field of fame to a laurelled tomb.
But the hero that wars in the Battle of Life,
Must stand alone in the fearful strife;
Alone in his weakness or strength must go,
Hero or craven to meet the foe;
He may not fly,—on that fated field,
He must win or lose, he must conquer or yield.
Warrior who com’st to this battle now,
With a careless step and a thoughtless brow,
As if the field were already won;
Pause, and gird all thy armor on.
Myriads have come to this battle-ground,
With a valiant arm and a name renowned,
And have fallen vanquished, to rise no more,
Ere the sun was set, or the day half o’er.
Where the bayonets gleam and the red tides flow;
And he bears his part in that conflict dire,
With an arm all nerve, and a heart all fire.
What though he fall! at the battle’s close,
In the flush of the victory won, he goes,
With martial music and waving plume,
From a field of fame to a laurelled tomb.
But the hero that wars in the Battle of Life,
Must stand alone in the fearful strife;
Alone in his weakness or strength must go,
Hero or craven to meet the foe;
He may not fly,—on that fated field,
He must win or lose, he must conquer or yield.
Warrior who com’st to this battle now,
With a careless step and a thoughtless brow,
As if the field were already won;
Pause, and gird all thy armor on.
Myriads have come to this battle-ground,
With a valiant arm and a name renowned,
And have fallen vanquished, to rise no more,
Ere the sun was set, or the day half o’er.
Dost thou bring with thee hither a dauntless will,
An ardent soul that no blast can chill;
An ardent soul that no blast can chill;
