He, who reigns above in purest
White, from his kingdom of gold
Looks down upon us mortals.
And with all his wisdom chortles
At those afraid of turning old.
As well as those of us instead
Who run off seeking fame and glory.
Blades aloft and held in hand
Fighting for our Holy Land
And the chance to write a hero's story.
Called to serve a sacred purpose
Against the devil's evil spawn.
His sacred voice calls out to us
Nothing more is left to discuss
We ride against them tomorrow dawn.
We can give our lives in service
To our faith, for in His own abode
Angels will commend our sacrifice.
No longer confined to a world of vice
Out to our deaths we crusaders rode.
Then, how is it we lose again and again?
Beaten back by barbarians covered in green
Blades broken, bodies bruised and buried
In foreigner's fields, tightly serried
And still Jerusalem's spires remain unseen.
Your voice on earth has said that
What is ours should be returned.
So why have you forsaken
Those whose very lives were taken,
Whose hopes were crushed and burned?
The Turks may have seized this day
But we will win this sacred war.
None can stand against Our Lord,
And with one sweep of the English sword
We shall, for once and all, settle the score.
Then why do I feel this sudden unease?
What cause have I to be afraid?
God himself is our eternal guide
How can we fail, with Him on our side?
Or are our gravestones already made?
Comments by author, Krishan Emmanuel