A Battle Cry

I have made my stand at last Where the thickest foes are found; I shall fall as I have fought, Yielding inch by inch the ground.

I have no surrender given, I have measured hate with hate; I have never stooped to call, “Quarter!” to victorious Fate.

When sore pressed I have not sought Aid from comrades in the field; I have never turned to find Succour from a friendly shield.

This shall be my guerdon gained, When the hounds of war are passed: “Peace to him who fought alone, And who fell alone at last.”