Original (inglés)

COURAGE COURAGE Is but a word, and yet, of words, The only sentinel of permanence; The ruddy watch-fire of cold winter days, We steal its comfort, lift our weary swords, And on. For faith—without it—has no sense; And love to wind of doubt and tremor sways; And life for ever quaking marsh must tread. Laws give it not; before it prayer will blush; Hope has it not; nor pride of being true; 'Tis the mysterious soul which never yields, But hales us on and on to breast the rush