Soldiers, go, but not to claim
Mouldering spoils of earthborn treasure,
Not to build a vaunting name,
Not to dwell in tents of pleasure,
Dream not that the way is smooth,
Hope not that the thorns are roses,
Turn no wishful eye of youth,
Where the sunny beam reposes.
Thou hast sterner work to do,
Hast to cut thy passage through;
Close behind the gulfs are burning:
Forward then, there's no returning.