Let oth­ers sing of bat­tles fought
And won on bloody fields,
Where hon­or meets the man who wins,
And death the man who yields;
But I will sing of him who fights,
And van­quish­es his sins;
Who strug­gles on through wea­ry years
Against him­self, and wins.

It calls for some­thing more than brawn
Or mus­cle, to o’er­come
An enemy who march­eth not
With ban­ner, plume, and drum―
A foe for­ev­er lurk­ing nigh,
With si­lent, steal­thy tread,
His pre­sence with you day by day,
At night, be­side your bed.

All hon­or, then, to that brave heart,
Tho’ poor or rich he be,
Who strug­gles with his bas­er part,
Who con­quers, and is free!
He may not wear a he­ro’s crown,
Nor fill a he­ro’s grave,
But truth will place his name among
The brav­est of the brave.