Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve! 
Not one of these poor men who died 
But did within his soul believe 
That death for thee was glorified. 

Ever they watched it hovering near 
That mystery 'yond thought to plumb, 
Perchance sometimes in loathèd fear 
They heard cold Danger whisper, Come! -- 

Heard and obeyed. O, if thou weep 
Such courage and honour, beauty, care, 
Be it for joy that those who sleep 
Only thy joy could share.