Twine a Garland for the Grave

Twine a garland for the grave
Of our Beautiful! our Brave!
And their names in glory grave
Who have died for us.
High the battle-banner wave!
They have perisht but to save,
They have leapt a Curtian grave
In their pride for us.
How they conquer, gallant guarders, with the red wet
sword in hand!
How thy life, at their brave ardours, crimsons high
with health, Old Land!
How they run the race of glory! how they light these
darkened years!
In our land's heroic story, 'tis the proudest tale of
tears.

In the Alma's vineyards ruddy, did they toil for our
increase;
In the fields of battle bloody, they shall plant our
palms of Peace.
They may rest by Alma river; they may die in
deserts drear;
But for ever, and for ever, shall our country hold them
dear.
With her smile the Angel Duty lit their brows as
with a crown;
And for love of her dear beauty they to death go
daring down.
Eyes may weep the unreturning; hearts will break
with Mother and Bride;
But, on Britain's front no mourning glooms for those
who thus have died.

Twine a garland for the grave
Of Our Beautiful! our Brave!
And their names in glory grave
Who have died for us.
High the battle-banner wave!
They have perisht but to save,
They have leapt a Curtian grave
In their pride for us.