Ye that have breathed its witching air,
Remember the men who went to fight,
That have much need in their piteous plight
Its gates to gain and its ease to win.
The need is bitter, the gift is light;
Give them the key to enter in.
If ever ye crept bowed down with care
Thither, and lo! your fears took flight,
And the burden of life grew little to bear,
And hurts were healed and the way lay bright;