Classic Poem

" DEATH in the right cause, death in the wrong cause, trumpets of victory, groans of defeat":
Yes; and it's better to go for the Abbey than chuck your old bones out in the street.

Life is a march and a battle (there's some of us make it a kind of review);
But how if you never get out on parade, and there's not any fighting to do?

Hands in your pockets, eyes on the pavement, where in the world is the fun of it all?
But a row — but a rush — but a face for your fist. Then a crash through the dark — and a fall;
And they carry you — where? Does it matter a straw? You can look at them out of your pride;
For you've had your will of a new front door, and your foot on the mat inside.

In fact, you 've done a pitch for yourself, and it seems, but it isn't, a parcel of stuff,
For nobody knows, nor looks your way, nor cares — but you know, and that's enough.

" Death in the wrong cause, death in the right": O, it's plain as a last year's comic song!
For the thing is, give us a cause , and we'll risk our skins for it, cheerfully, right or wrong.

And if, please God, it's the Rag of Rags, that sends us roaring into the fight,
O, we'll go in a glory, dead certain sure that we're utterly bound to be right!