Give me your hand, my brother, search my face; 
Look in these eyes lest I should think of shame; 
For we have made an end of all things base. 
We are returning by the road we came. 

Your lot is with the ghosts of soldiers dead, 
And I am in the field where men must fight. 
But in the gloom I see your laurell?d head 
And through your victory I shall win the light.