Long with razored edge the Light of Battle
gleams in flawless line and glints with stars;
he bears it on his breast, his hands upon it,
unsheathed, the proudest sword, of biting steel.
Now rest where legends dream, O blade,
and glow with sunlike flame upon this night,
when mighty war-maids lift on glory's threads
the soul of fallen slain, and hero make;
then guide the barge below the salted wave
and mark a hero's grave with memory.
Queen of Martyrs
O Queen of martyrs, fortitude
upon your brow has wreathed its light
in tears, in ache, in solitude,
in prayers whispered in the night;
the sword has pierced your heart, your soul,
your spirit flawless flees in sigh:
each nail, the spear, they take their toll
as on the Cross your glory dies.
O Queen of heaven, pray for me,
that with your heart my heart should hold
in life, in truth, in charity,
your strength, through prayer, pure and bold.
Who will not die for virtue's sake,
who will not suffer for the good,
has failed; and none to heaven wake
save those with hearts on Cross of wood.