Weaponed well, to war we ride, With sabres ringing by our side,-- The warning knell of death to all Who hold the holiest cause in thrall: The sacred Right Which grows to Might, The day which dawns in blood-red light. Weaponed well, to war we ride, To conquer, tide what may betide, For never yet beneath the sun Was battle by the devil won: For what to thee Defeat may be, Time makes a glorious victory. Weaponed well, to war we ride-- Who braves the battle wins the bride; Who dies the death for truth