Upon his will he binds a radiant chain,
For Freedom's sake he is no longer free,
It is his task, the slave of Liberty,
WIth his own blood to wipe away a stain.
THat pain may cease, he yields his flesh to pain.
To banish war, he must a warrior be,
He dwells in Night, eternal Dawn to see,
And gladly dies, abundant life to gain.
What matters Death, if Freedom be not dead?
No flags are furled, if Freedom's flag be furled.
Who fights for freedom, goes with joyful tread
To meet the fires of Hell against him hurled,
And has for captain Him whose thorn-wreathed head
Smiles from the Cross upon a conquered world.
Joyce Kilmer
