Gladly I die for thy dear sake: Yea, thou knowest well
Were my sad life more radiant far than mortal tongue could tell
Yet would I give it gladly, joyously for thee.
On bloodstained fields of battle, fast locked in madd’ning strife,
Thy sons have dying blest thee, untouched by doubt or fear.
No matter wreaths of laurel; no matter where our life
Ebbs out, on scaffold, or in combat, or under torturer’s knife.
We welcome Death, if for our hearths, or for our country dear.
I die while dawn’s rich iris-hues are staining yet the sky,
Heralds of the freer day still hidden from our view