Song Of Heroes. Poem by Samuel Bamford

What gain is life, unless it be
For noble actions noted?
What loss is death that ends a life
So worthily devoted?
It takes away the mortal clay;
But glory waking o'er us,
High feats doth blazon where they dwell
Eternally before us.

And hath not Britain's noble isle
Its myriads all undaunted,
Who, hateful of oppression vile,
Would fight when they were wanted?
Come on, ye brave!—come an, ye brave!
The time is now or never;
If right unto the wrong be slave,
The wrong may reign for ever!

Oh! leave the sordid ones behind
To tremble o'er their treasure;
The faint of heart, the lightsome mind,
To seek a life of pleasure:
For heroes true have more in view—
A higher hope they cherish;
To rest, amid a splendid fame,
Till fame and glory perish.'