By Xander Hacking.
Dim the fires smolder,
Their tenders cold and hard.
The few still burning brightly,
Warm the broken, stooping men.
The field was green and peaceful,
But such seems ages past.
Littered with the fallen,
It sleeps now in dark and ash.
This is not the first day,
(We pray it be the last)
When our strength faltered,
And hope seems gone and past.
A figure emerges from the night,
Towards us huddled living.
His eyes are wet in mourning,
But bright with courage burning.
He puts his hand upon the shoulder,
Of every broken man.
We stand a little taller,
As we recall His Plan.
"We fight for something greater,
Than thrones and kings of man.
This day was a costly battle,
But we will rise again.
The path we tread 's not easy,
But Joy is ours come the end."
As our Captain parted,
His light lingered in our eyes.
Though our wounds still festered,
We no longer felt the pain.
Through the healing of our Master,
We are whole again.
