Sacramentum Supremum

MUKDEN, MARCH 6TH, 1905

    Ye that with me have fought and failed and fought
        To the last desperate trench of battle's crest,
    Not yet to sleep, not yet; our work is nought;
        On that last trench the fate of all may rest,
    Draw near, my friends; and let your thoughts be high;
        Great hearts are glad when it is time to give;
    Life is no life to him that dares not die,
        And death no death to him that dares to live.

    Draw near together; none be last or first;
        We are no longer names, but one desire;
    With the same burning of the soul we thirst,
        And the same wine to-night shall quench our fire.
    Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,
        To the dead voices that are never dumb;
    Then to the land of all our loves, and then
        To the long parting, and the age to come.

Henry John Newbolt

Sir Henry John Newbolt was an English poet and author, famous for his ballads such as 'Vitaï Lampada'. He graduated from Oxford and was called to the bar, but he is better remembered for his literary contributions than his legal career. Newbolt served as a government advisor on military and naval literature during World War I. He was knighted in 1915 for his services to literature. Newbolt's work often reflected themes of patriotism and duty.

Henry John Newbolt

By The Hearth-Stone

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

Ave, Soror

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

Ad Matrem Dolorosam

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

The Volunteer

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

English

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Stonewall Jackson's Grave.[A]

A simple, sodded mound of earth,
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The Advance-Guard.

In the dream of the Northern poets,
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For all we have and are,
For all our children's fate,
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TO COLONEL FRANCIS EDWARD YOUNGHUSBAND

    Across the Western World, the Arabian Sea,
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    Beyond the rampart of Himalayan snows,
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    Unchecked, old friend, from Devon to Thibet,
    Friendship and Memory dog your footsteps yet.

    Let not the scornful ask me what avails
    So small a pack to follow mighty trails:
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The Battle.

    Heavy and solemn,
    A cloudy column,
    Through the green plain they marching came!
Measure less spread, like a table dread,
For the wild grim dice of the iron game.
The looks are bent on the shaking ground,
And the heart beats loud with a knelling sound;
Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt,
Gallops the major along the front
        "Halt!"
And fettered they stand at the stark command,
And the warriors, silent, halt!

Proud in the blush of morning glowing,
What on the hill-top shines in flowing,
"See you the foeman's banners waving?"
"We see the foeman's banners waving!"
"God be with ye children and wife!"
Hark to the music the trump and the fife,
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