How Sleep the Brave
Bitterly, England must thou grieve—
Though none of these poor men who died
But did within his soul believe
That death for thee was glorified.
Ever they watched it hovering near—
A mystery beyond thought to plumb—
And often, in loathing and in fear,
They heard cold danger whisper, Come!—
Heard, and obeyed. Oh, if thou weep
Such courage and honour, woe, despair;
Remember too that those who sleep
No more remorse can share.
