Lines [“The death of men is not the death”] By Abram Joseph Ryan

    The death of men is not the death
    Of rights that urged them to the fray;
        For men may yield
        On battle-field
    A noble life with stainless shield,
        And swords may rust
        Above their dust,
        But still, and still
        The touch and thrill
    Of freedom’s vivifying breath
        Will nerve a heart and rouse a will
        In some hour, in the days to be,
    To win back triumphs from defeat;
    And those who blame us then will greet
        Right’s glorious eternity.

    For right lives in a thousand things;
        Its cradle is its martyr’s grave,
    Wherein it rests awhile until
        The life that heroisms gave
    Will rise again, at God’s own will,
        And right the wrong,
        Which long and long
    Did reign above the true and just;
    And thro’ the songs the poet sings,
    Right’s vivifying spirit rings;
        Each simple rhyme
        Keeps step and time
    With those who marched away and fell,
        And all his lines
        Are humble shrines
    Where love of right will love to dwell.