 | Under Arms |  |
5
OUR MARCH.
Lead on! With music in our hearts we march
Long in endurance, Britons, aye put on,
Comrades, new strength. Are we in all the path,
Ready to battle: certain only is,
That every man must die in age or youth.
Long in endurance, Britons, aye put on,
Comrades, new strength. Are we in all the path,
Ready to battle: certain only is,
That every man must die in age or youth.
Come life, come death, we soldiers live these days,
In the hearts of the whole Nation; as who play,
In England's spring fields, many a manly game,
In sight of a great multitude that look on,
And all those any hardy deed applaud.
In the hearts of the whole Nation; as who play,
In England's spring fields, many a manly game,
In sight of a great multitude that look on,
And all those any hardy deed applaud.
Comrades, we which bear arms have vowed our youth,
To warlike honour; who remain at home,
We would some tidings they might daily hear
Still of our good endeavour and proud deeds—
Deeds worthy of Britain. And who wounded fall,
And which of us shall die a soldier's death,
Shall honoured be his name at thousand hearths:
And praise us shall all English hearts and bless.
To warlike honour; who remain at home,
We would some tidings they might daily hear
Still of our good endeavour and proud deeds—
Deeds worthy of Britain. And who wounded fall,
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Shall honoured be his name at thousand hearths:
And praise us shall all English hearts and bless.
Aye, and better are these now heroic days
Of battle and long march, in cold, in heat,
Sleeps broken, night alarms, in dry and wet;
Which all occasions are to valiant soldiers,
Show worthy service, than when we at home
Ignobly oft consumed the idle hours
In treacherous drink and vice of soldiers' life.
Of battle and long march, in cold, in heat,
Sleeps broken, night alarms, in dry and wet;
Which all occasions are to valiant soldiers,
Show worthy service, than when we at home
Ignobly oft consumed the idle hours
In treacherous drink and vice of soldiers' life.
Then rather welcome that we now endure,
Warfare's misease; is the air a fiery breath,
Burdenous this sun, our water foul and scant,
Powdered with dust our meat, and rent our cloth!
Warfare's misease; is the air a fiery breath,
Burdenous this sun, our water foul and scant,
Powdered with dust our meat, and rent our cloth!
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Hark! calls shrill bugle note; halt, we encamp.
Comrades sign is our twilight weariness,
That we have wrought, to-day a soldier's work.
At length we sit our camp fires round to eat,
And hardly may our eyes withhold from sleep.
But, and the foe assail in this dim night
Should spring new manhood in our jaded knees.
Comrades sign is our twilight weariness,
That we have wrought, to-day a soldier's work.
At length we sit our camp fires round to eat,
And hardly may our eyes withhold from sleep.
But, and the foe assail in this dim night
Should spring new manhood in our jaded knees.
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