["The death of men is not thedeath"]

    The death of men is not the death Of rights that urged them to the fray¹； For men may yield On battle-field A noble life with stainless² shield, And swords may rust³ Above their dust, But still, and still The touch and thrill Of freedom's vivifying breath Will nerve a heart and rouse a will In some hour, in the days to be, To win back triumphs from defeat； And those who blame us then will greet Right's glorious eternity⁴.

    For right lives in a thousand things； Its cradle is its martyr's grave, Wherein it rests awhile until The life that heroisms gave Will rise again, at God's own will, And right the wrong, Which long and long Did reign⁵ above the true and just； And thro' the songs the poet sings, Right's vivifying spirit rings； Each simple rhyme Keeps step and time With those who marched away and fell, And all his lines Are humble⁶ shrines⁷ Where love of right will love to dwell.