The Humble Knight

Across the field of battle, dim,

Encamps the enemy, fearsome, bold,

That, set upon destruction grim,

Now fights the last of kingdoms old,

And fells them to the ground.

The meager force, with fires few,

And wounded numbering more than well,

Await the dawn, with honor true,

To face the slaughter fierce of hell

And rest with forbears great.

But rises up a humble knight

Amid the weary soldiers, who

Prepare to war and battle fight,

And fall, and sleep beneath the dew;

This fate must not now pass.

And forth the lowly knight does go,

Across the foggy field of death,

To pledge alone his mortal soul

In combat, to the final breath,

That free his people go.

At daybreak, as across the plain

The sunlight casts fair rays of gold,

There sounds the trumpets’ dread refrain

To signal that a soldier bold

Shall fight to win the day.

The clash of steel upon the ears

Of armies fair and foul alike

Bring to the staunchest eye a tear;

And stand to arms all men in sight

To honor swordsman bold.

The day creeps on, and still the knight

Assaults the champion of the foe,

Though sore and weary, yet he fights,

Until the golden evening glow,

And then, into the dark.

Yet humble knight still presses on,

The fight to death will not yet cease;

For in his hands, now weak and wan,

Rests there his people’s future peace,

And win the day he shall.

At break of dawn, there quiet lies

The battlefield so grim and dark;

No sign of armies meets the eye, 

And softly sings the morning lark,

For victory had been won.