Hard and cold, the barren Earth, as my wounds color the soil,
You seem so sad beside me, yet our lamp is filled with oil.
The battle has not subsided, why tarry for a fallen one?
You weep in the final moment, when victory is almost won?
Stand to my faithful captain, be not swayed by evil foes.
We are men of noble gain, from precious blood that flows.
Enemies have come unnumbered, and waged their bitter war,
But with us the Lord triumphant, it is His armor that we bore.
Commander, confidant and friend, why fear you the devilís thralls,
Our King yet sits in glory, hear you not the trumpet's call?
Look to the marching company, with great angels at the lead,
Shadows fall down before them, what troubles should we heed?
Leave now my broken body, this crumpled tent you see,
Rise up my fellow soldier, and march on toward victory.
Shed no tears, my brother, my battle is already won,
Though I lay in a field of sorrows, my heart is with the Son.
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