"Pride flings frail palaces at the sky, As a man flings up sand,But the firm feet of humility Take hold of heavy land.
"Pride juggles with her toppling towers, They strike the sun and cease,But the firm feet of humility They grip the ground like trees.
"He that hath failed in a little thing Hath a sign upon the brow;And the Earls of the Great Army Have no such seal to show.
"The red print on my forehead Small flame for a red star,In the van of the violent marching, thenWhen the sky is torn of the trumpets ten,And the hands of the happy howling men Fling wide the gates of war,
"This blow that I return not Ten times will I returnOn kings and earls of all degree,And armies wide as empires beShall slide like landslips to the sea, If the red star burn.
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