To the victor,
Who wears no crown of princely royalty,
And holds no higher ground,
But bows his head in humble loyalty,
And keeps them closely round,
Who knows that strength is not just in the activity,
Of killing in a strife,
But also in the charity,
Of giving one his life,
Who fights and fights til all is gone,
And keeps on fighting still,
Who, only when the fighting's done,
Will stop and rest his fill,
Who, even when mistakes are made,
And battles fought and lost,
Will turn around with rais'ed blade,
And keep them from more cost ,
And even as the end draws near,
And the last of hope goes out,
The victor will be standing here,
Of that there is no doubt.
