  Mother, shed no mournful tears, But gird me on my sword; And give no utterance to thy fears, But bless me with thy word. The lines are drawn! The fight is on! A cause is to be won! Mother, look not so white and wan; Give Godspeed to thy son. Now let thine eyes my way pursue Where'er my footsteps fare; And when they lead beyond thy view, Send after me a prayer. But pray not to defend from harm, Nor danger to dispel; Pray, rather, that with steadfast arm I fight the battle well. Pray, mother of mine, that I always keep My heart and purpose strong, My sword unsullied and ready to leap Unsheathed against the wrong. |
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