Looking upon the Eucharist that clips our heart.
The sole journey to the promise Land of thought,
Not as that which ended up in forty years.
But the one that has brought sorrow in laughter to our face.
...
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.