Death whining down from Heaven,
Death roaring from the ground,
Death stinking in the nostril,
Death shrill in every sound,
Doubting, we charged and conquered—
Hopeless we struck and stood.
Now when the fight is ended
We know that it was good.
We that have seen the strongest
Cry like a beaten child,
The sanest eye unholy,
The cleanest hands defiled,
We that have known the heart blood
Less then the lees of wine,
We that have seen men broken,
We know man is divine.
MY shoulders ache beneath my pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.
(When shall my fickle soul forget
The Agony of Bloody Sweat!)
My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palms red rivers come).