O, it is great for our country to die, where ranks are contending!
Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for aye,—
Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending,—
Glory that never shall fade, never, O never, away!
O, it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes
Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of...