Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve!
Not one of these poor men who died But did within his soul believe That death for thee was glorified.
Ever they watched it hovering near That mystery 'yond thought to plumb,
Perchance sometimes in loathèd fear They heard cold Danger whisper,
Come! — Heard and obeyed.
O, if thou weep Such courage and honour, beauty, care,
Be it for joy that those who sleep Only thy joy could share.
