On every landmark the world's course along,
That speaks to us of a great battle won
Over untruth, or prejudice or wrong.
Remembering this, full sad I am to hear
That voice which loudest in the combat rung
Now weak and low and sorrowful of cheer,
To see that arm of battle all unstrung.
And so, even as a warrior after fight
Thinks of a noble foe, now wounded sore,
I think of thee, and of thine ancient might,