Come not to me on a bed <br />Of pale-faced sickness and of pining; <br />Oh, clasp me close on the battle-field red, <br />Midst warrior's shouts, and armour shining! <br />Let me not have priest nor bell, <br />Sable pomp, nor voice of wailing; <br />The roar of the cannon shall be my knell, <br />And tears with thee are unavailing. <br />Then clasp me close in the hottest strife, <br />Where the cut, and the stab, and the shot are rife! <br /> <br />May I fall on some great day, <br />With Freedom's banner streaming o'er me! <br />Live but to shout for the victory, <br />And see the rout roll on before me, <br />And tyrants, from their greatness torn, <br />Beneath the scourge of justice smarting, <br />And gaze on Freedom's glorious morn, <br />My soul to cheer before departing! <br />Oh, then my life might melt away; <br />In visions bright of liberty!<br /><br />Samuel Bamford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-warrior-s-ode-to-death/
