You, whose heart is breaking with the strain
Of bitter agony and drear suspense;
You, who feel within your throbbing brain
The torture growing ever more intense,
You, who suffer more than words can tell,
From whose worn eyes the ceaseless tears must flow,
You, who've bade an agonized farewell,
To him you worship: tell us, you who know —
Is there comfort for the heart oppress'd
With grief's dark agony, which none can steal?
Is parting with the one you love the best
The greatest sorrow that the heart can feel?
If not upon the field of blood and strife,
Oh! where then would you wish that he should lie?
If not for England he should give his life,
For what then would you wish that he should die?
You cannot see him suffer, cannot stand
Beside him as he gasps away his breath,
You cannot clasp in yours his fever'd hand
Or soothe him in the dark'ning hour of death.
But he knows not that he is there alone,
He feels your tender touch upon his hair,
He hears you speaking in a loving tone
And gently smiles and thinks that you are there.
Amidst the blurring smoke he sees your face,
The vision soothes his lingering hours of pain;
He dreams that you are there in that wild place
Or he is safe at home with you again.
He hears the music of the cannons' roar
Growing fainter now; and still more dim
The earthly landscape; while that Other Shore
Grows clearer and more beautiful to him.
To him the din of battle now is still'd,
To him the deadly conflict seems to pause,
He knows his soldier's mission is fulfill'd
In dying for his country's holy cause.
Calm your throbbing heart, it will not break,
Not quite, a power stronger than your will
Will keep it beating for the others' sake,
The ones who cling to you and want you still.
Would you have your loved one by your side,
Without his deathless laurel-wreath of fame?
Would you wish your hero had not died,
And from the roll of honour strike his name?
Of bitter agony and drear suspense;
You, who feel within your throbbing brain
The torture growing ever more intense,
You, who suffer more than words can tell,
From whose worn eyes the ceaseless tears must flow,
You, who've bade an agonized farewell,
To him you worship: tell us, you who know —
Is there comfort for the heart oppress'd
With grief's dark agony, which none can steal?
Is parting with the one you love the best
The greatest sorrow that the heart can feel?
If not upon the field of blood and strife,
Oh! where then would you wish that he should lie?
If not for England he should give his life,
For what then would you wish that he should die?
You cannot see him suffer, cannot stand
Beside him as he gasps away his breath,
You cannot clasp in yours his fever'd hand
Or soothe him in the dark'ning hour of death.
But he knows not that he is there alone,
He feels your tender touch upon his hair,
He hears you speaking in a loving tone
And gently smiles and thinks that you are there.
Amidst the blurring smoke he sees your face,
The vision soothes his lingering hours of pain;
He dreams that you are there in that wild place
Or he is safe at home with you again.
He hears the music of the cannons' roar
Growing fainter now; and still more dim
The earthly landscape; while that Other Shore
Grows clearer and more beautiful to him.
To him the din of battle now is still'd,
To him the deadly conflict seems to pause,
He knows his soldier's mission is fulfill'd
In dying for his country's holy cause.
Calm your throbbing heart, it will not break,
Not quite, a power stronger than your will
Will keep it beating for the others' sake,
The ones who cling to you and want you still.
Would you have your loved one by your side,
Without his deathless laurel-wreath of fame?
Would you wish your hero had not died,
And from the roll of honour strike his name?