“I see before me valiant men,
      With courage high and true,
    Who fight as only heroes fight,
      And die, as heroes do.

    Your serried ranks have never quailed
      Before the battle-shock,
    Whose maddest fury beats and breaks
      Like foam against the rock.

    Ye’ve borne the deadly brunt of war,
      Through storm, and cold, and heat,
    Yet never have ye turned your backs
      Nor fled before defeat.

    Behind you lie your cheerful homes,
      And all of sweet or fair,—­
    The only remnants earth has left
      Of Eden-life, are there.

    Ye know that many a once bright cheek
      Consuming care, makes wan;
    Ye know the old, dear happiness
      That blest your hearths,—­is gone.

    Ye see your comrades smitten down,—­
      The young, the good, the brave,—­
    Ye feel, the turf ye tread to-day,
      May be to-morrow’s grave.

    Yet not a murmur meets the ear,
      Nor discontent has sway,
    And not a sullen brow is seen,
      Through all the camp to-day.

    No Greek, in Greece’s palmiest days,
      His javelin ever threw,
    Impelled by more heroic zeal,
      Or nobler aim than you.

    No mailed warrior ever bore
      Aloft his shining lance,
    More proudly through the tales that fire
      The page of old romance.

    Oh! soldiers!—­well ye bear your part;
      The world awards its praise: 
    Be sure,—­this grandest tourney o’er,—­
      ’Twill crown you with its bays!

    But there’s sublimer work than even
      To free your native sod;
    —­Ye may be loyal to your land,
      Yet traitors to your God!

    No Moslem heaven for him who falls,
      A bribed requital doles;
    And while ye save your country,—­ye,
      Alas! may lose your souls!

    No glorious deeds can urge their claim,—­
      No merits, entrance win,—­
    The pierced hand of Christ alone,
      Must freely let you in.

    Oh! sirs!—­there lurks a fiercer foe,
      Than this that treads your soil,
    Who springs from unseen ambuscades,
      To drag you as his spoil.

    He drugs the heedless conscience, till,
      No wary watch it keeps,
    And parleys with the treacherous heart,
      While fast the warder sleeps.

    He captive leads the wavering will
      With specious words, and fair,
    And enters the beleaguered soul,
      And rules, a conqueror there.

    Will ye who fling defiance forth,
      Against a temporal foe,
    And rather die, than stoop to wear
      The chains that gall you so,—­

    Will ye succumb beneath a power,
      That grasps at full control,
    And binds its helpless victims down
      In servitude of soul?