Making large triumph of a little grave,
Imperial purple of a mourning dress,
The gun an emblem of your godliness—
A fluttering ribbon or a banner's wave,
A medal or a bayonet, or rave
Of singing, marching in the forward press
Of hatred to the banging of a band;
Your country's honour and the world's release.
Are they not strong in courage who withstand
The armies of your folly and shall cease