Classic Poem

Who doubts has met defeat ere blows can fall,
Who doubts must die with no palm in his hand;
Who doubts shall never be of that high band
Which clearly answer — Present! to Death's call.
For Faith is life, and, though a funeral pall
Veil our fair Hope, and on our promised land
A mist malignant hang, if Faith but stand
Among our ruins we shall conquer all.

O faithful soul, that knew no doubting low.
O Faith incarnate, lit by Hope's strong flame,
And led by Faith's own cross to dare all ill
And find our world! — but more than this we owe
To thy true heart; thy pure and glorious name
Is one clear trumpet call to Faith and Will.

Who doubts has met defeat ere blows can fall,
Who doubts must die with no palm in his hand;
Who doubts shall never be of that high band
Which clearly answer — Present! to Death's call.
For Faith is life, and, though a funeral pall
Veil our fair Hope, and on our promised land
A mist malignant hang, if Faith but stand
Among our ruins we shall conquer all.

O faithful soul, that knew no doubting low.
O Faith incarnate, lit by Hope's strong flame,
And led by Faith's own cross to dare all ill
And find our world! — but more than this we owe
To thy true heart; thy pure and glorious name
Is one clear trumpet call to Faith and Will.