What can we do, in the fading dawn,
When the rising sun beats upon our breast?
What can we do, but soldier on,
When swiftly ends our restless rest?
What can we do, when all is lost,
All friends, and aid, and hope is gone?
When we dare not to count the cost;
What can we do, but soldier on?
To fall, to fail, to ne'er rise again,
To give in, to give up, what might have been?
What kinds of lives? What kinds of men?
What kinds of doors forever shut then?
Nay, we must needs get up and walk
Though fire devour and lion stalk;
Though battle-weary spirits balk,
Brave hearts soar free as the fierce hawk,
Our path by immortal hand well drawn,
What can we do, but soldier on?
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