Our very memories will have passed away,
Our beating hearts be still, our bodies dust;
Our joys and sorrows o’er, our swords but rust.
Your gallant deeds will live in history’s page,
In fire side stories, told to youth by age;
But sacred writ still warns us yet again,
How soldier’s science and his valour’s vain
Unless the Lord of Hosts the city keep:
The mighty tremble and the watchmen sleep,
Return grim soldiers to your silent home