Warriors

We all are warriors with sin. Crusading knights, we come to earth

With spotless plumes and shining shields to joust with foes and prove our worth.

The world is but a battlefield where strong and weak men fill the lists,

And some make war with humble prayers, and some with swords and some with fists.

And some for pleasure or for peace forsake their purposes and goals

And barter for the scarlet joys of ease and pomp, their knightly souls.

We’re all enlisted soldiers here, in service for the term called life

And each of us in some grim way must bear his portion of the strife.

Temptations everywhere assail. Men do not rise by fearing sin,

Nor he who keeps within his tent, unharmed, unscratched, the crown shall win.

When wrongs are trampling mortals down and rank injustice stalks about,

Real manhood to the battle flies, and dies or puts the foes to rout.

’Tis not the new and shining blade that marks the soldier of the field,

His glory is his broken sword, his pride the scars upon his shield;

The crimson stains that sin has left upon his soul are tongues that speak

The victory of new found strength by one who yesterday was weak.

And meaningless the spotless plume, the shining blade that goes through life

And quits this naming battlefield without one evidence of strife.

We all are warriors with sin, we all are knights in life’s crusades,

And with some form of tyranny, we’re sent to earth to measure blades.

The courage of the soul must gleam in conflict with some fearful foe,

No man was ever born to life its luxuries alone to know.

And he who brothers with a sin to keep his outward garb unsoiled

And fears to battle with a wrong, shall find his soul decayed and spoiled.