Classic Poem

Doubt if you will that victory is yours,
Doubt of your comrade's strength, your captain's skill:
And though the thought be torment, if you will,
While right and left the storm of battle roars,
Doubt heaven, doubt its justice, doubt the cause;
For doubts invincible will crowd and fill
The bravest bosom, doubts no power can still,
Doubt if you will, but neither flinch nor pause.

The sword is drawn, the foe before you stands:
For victory or death, for wrong or right,
Smite! though the very sword with which you smite,
A faithless blade, be shivered in your hands.
Doubt not yourself — though all be false but you,
Then let one man at least be brave and true.