Before The Battle

By Thomas Moore

By the hope within us springing,
Herald of to-morrow's strife;
By that sun whose light is bringing
Chains or freedom, death or life --
Oh! remember, life can be
No charm for him who lives not free!
Like the day-star in the wave,
Sinks a hero in his grave,
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears!
Happy is he o'er whose decline
The smiles of home may soothing shine,
And light him down the steep of years --
But oh! how blest they sink to rest,
Who close their eyes on victory's breast!

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers
Now the foeman's cheek turns white,
When his heart that field remembers,
Where we tam'd his tyrant might!
Never let him bind again
A chain, like that we broke from then.
Hark! the horn of combat calls --
Ere the golden evening falls,
May we pledge that horn in triumph round!
Many a heart that now beats high,
In slumber cold at night shall lie,
Nor waken even at victory's sound --
But oh! how blest that hero's sleep,
O'er whom a wondering world shall weep!