In this great land of uncommon sages
Where iniquities have become rated
And hard labour, paid with meagre wages
While morals and truth are dead hated
...
In the hope of an umpteen boon I sit
Like a star still in the spell of the night
Shunning the dole of diurnal orbit
Solo scouring mega rays of the Light
...
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.
Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.
