  What of the fight? With no vain boast We meet the foeman on the field, But each man's soul is as an host, To fight, to die, but not to yield. The glory of our splendid past Shines on us as a quenchless sun, That each and all may write at last The simple tale of duty done. What of the fight? Or well or ill, Whatever chance our hearts are sure; Our fathers' strength is with us still Through good or evil to endure. Our spirit, though the storm may lower, Burns brighter under darkening skies, Knowing that at the appointed hour The glory of the dawn shall rise. Claude E. C. H. Burton ("Touchstone") By permission of the Author |
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