Saturday, April 17, 2010

"To Die is to Glory, to Love and to Care"

Intrepid, courageous, the soldier marches on,
his sword he clasps, his armor has been don.

His eyes so dark, so steady, so calm,
fear nothing, not death, nor any sudden qualm.

He marches into death, with neither sorrow nor doubt, 
his sword flashes in the sun as he utters a shout.

Only God almighty destines his fate,
to die or to live, the soldier is sate.

For to die is to glory, to love and to care,
for his dear Love's sweet face he will anything bear.

With God as his guide, he slashes the foe,
not one earthly trouble can e'er cause him woe.

The battle rages on o'er 'round  him in death,
but will he conquer until his last dying breath?

With wounds deep red, and flowing with blood,
his sword he lets fall down into the mud.

Eyes troubled and pained, his arm reaches high,
he feels all alone underneath the bright sky.

The enemy advances, with swords poised high, 
to give the last blow to the last man nigh.

Suddenly his eyes flash with determination and pride,
No! He will not give in to death here at side.

He picks up his sword for one last time, 
he grits his teeth as the bells toll and chime.

Those bells! They taunt and they cry,
"He this lone soldier must surely indeed die!"

Looking to heaven, he takes a deep breath,
for now he knows his fate, one that says death.

But yet, he'll gain life, far up above,
for God's rich grace has given him love.

Ne'er more will he see his sweet Love's face,
if only to her once more he could race!

Her kind eyes of gentleness and grace,
will ne'er more look upon her lover's dear face.

Such tears she will cry when she learns of his fate,
but she must wander on with goodness, not hate.

For God is Judge o'er all men's lives,
they must trust Him in faith, for it is He who drives.

The soldier, with brave, determined face,
runs into the foe with unhindered pace.

Slashing and fighting, he valiantly fights,
but soon he will leave to new weathered heights.

Collapsing with fatigue, his sword drops a'gain,
for his last wound has driven him into the pain.
Still and forgotten, lonely and weak,
the soldier's head lifts as he looks toward the peak.

Tears sting his eyes with unashamed streaks,
death comes in closer, in desperation it reeks.

One last prayer uttered from the soldier's mouth,
flows upward to heaven, driven by the wind south.

In peace his eyes close, and a smile shows forth,
for the maiden so fair, far away in the north.

One day they'll unite, as only lovers can,
but for now he must go, to a far off land.

For to die is to glory, to love and to care,
now the soldier has flown, after Life's fullest share.

~Rachel Brown

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