Trained in the holy art whose lifted shield Wards off the darts a never-slumbering foe, By hearth and wayside lurking, waits to throw. Oppression taught his helpful arm to wield The slayer's weapon: on the murderous field The fiery bolt he challenged laid him low, Seeking its noblest victim. Even so The charter of a nation must be sealed! The healer's brow the hero's honours crowned, From lowliest duty called to loftiest deed. Living, the oak-leaf wreath his temples bound; Dying, the conqueror's laurel was his meed, Last on the broken ramparts' turf to bleed Where Freedom's victory in defeat was found.