The Defeated

 Think not because you raise
 A gleaming sword,
That you will win to praise
 Before the Lord.

And though men hail you great
 Unto the skies,
Deem not 'twill ope' the gate
 Of Paradise.

Though you have gold and gear
 And fame and power,
What odds when you draw near
 The Judgement Hour?

But if in bloody dust
 Yet unafraid
You battle for the Just
 With broken blade--

Then will the Lord look down
 With eyes of love,
And you shall win a Crown
 All price above.

Form: Ballad

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