Stand not before my chief, O foes!
Many who stood, in stones repose.
To lift a lance that missed a tusker
Is prouder than shaft that hit a hare.
Valour is fight with fierce courage
Mercy to the fallen is its edge.
At the tusker he flings his lance
One in body smiles another chance.
When lances dart if heroes wink
"It is a rout" the world will think.
The brave shall deem the days as vain
Which did not battle-wounds sustain.
Their anklets aloud jingle their name
Who sacrifice their life for fame.
The king may chide, they pursue strife;
They fear loss of glory: not life.
Who will blame the heroes mat lose
Their lives in war to keep their vows?
Such a death shall be prayed for
Which draws the tears of the ruler.
MILITARY PRIDE
