But he who bore the light in night of war,
Swiftly and surely and without surcease,
Where other light was not, save one red star,
Treads now, as then, the certain path to peace;
Wounded, denied, but radiant of soul,
Steadfast in honor, marches toward the goal.
II
The spirit that was Peace seems but a wraith,
The glory that was ours seems but a name,
And like a rotten reed our broken faith,