Finis Coronat Opus

Through a sea of living death, In the dark, a figure treads, Weaving through the ghosts of hell, Coursing o’er the foulest swell. He must make it to the dawn For the cause of those who’ve gone, Those who’ve fallen ‘neath the blade Of the Reaper’s shadowed face. Press then on, through ashen heaps, To the light, where Hope now sleeps; Keep your mind now firmly on Boldest tales of battles won. Falter not upon the way, Lest you ne’er see light of day; March then on, and come at last To the day when death is past.

Amid the fallen ash and snow, Where trav’lers now no longer go, And darkness makes itself a home As sunlight flees from heaven’s dome; Two companions stumble on, Through the night and toward the dawn, Blind and choking on the ash That signals lands have breathed their last. Nations crumbled into dust, Empires fell to wanton lust; Yet survivors still remain And hope is kindled once again. So the pair of wand’rers go Fearlessly, through wind and snow, Holding tight the other’s hand And praying to see light again.

Lonely battlefield lies hushed  ‘Neath the softly falling rain, As the crimson ground is washed From its dreadful crimson stain. Respite now from battles grim To the valiant soldiers true; Dear it was to vict’ry win And hope in hearts imbue. At home, they will be met with joy, With merriment and honors great; Yet strongest man and bravest boy All bear the soldiers’ fate. ‘Ere long, the know, again will rise A time to fight and strive to win; So keep they guard, lest heavy eyes Let darkness in to grow again.