As soldiers after fight confess The fear their valor would not own When, ere the battle's thunder stress, The silence made its mightier moan: Though now the victory be mine, 'T is of the conflict I must speak, Still wondering how the Hand Divine Confounds the mighty with the weak. To-morrow I may flaunt the foe -- Not now; for in the echoing beat Of fleeing heart-throbs well I know The bitterness of near defeat. O friends! who see but steadfast deeds, Have grace of pity with your praise. Crown if you must, but crown with weeds, -- The conquered more deserve your bays. No, praise the dead! -- the ancestral roll That down their line new courage send, For moments when against the soul All hell and half of heaven contend. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHITE AN' BLUE by WILLIAM BARNES SEVEN TIMES ONE [- CHILDHOOD. EXULTATION] by JEAN INGELOW DAWN by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS LOVE'S MELODY by BARBARA MARIE BOOTH DOMINUS VINAEAE; SPIRITUS AGRICOLA by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |