In a hole in the ground there laid an Englishman. Not a nice Hobbit-hole filled with good company, butter, and bread. But a nasty, dirty hole filled with disease and memories of the dead.
In the darkened pit, beneath the Somme, he began To think, to look, to pen great wonders beyond men. Far up, written in the cosmos above the streak Of shells, there shined a tale of lore written between The Primum Land and desolation of man.
In a Dead Marsh, teeming with weary harmony, Another concord rises from the boggy mire. The voices of fallen comrades, pale and haunting, Give way to Mighty voices in a Holy choir Singing of valleys, mountains, shires and future things. But wrought by the mightiest, an unholy fire Meant to scorch, break, and overtake like a foul ring. But none can undo God’s plans with such selfish things.
In the shadow of death, in a valley of tears The Englishman sought hope, in spite of his great fear. The stars told a story of beauty beyond him: Beauty, as if a Star were dancing around him; A story of mortal men and immortal lands, Of crossing the sea and touching Blessed hands.
In a miserable trench, the Englishman dreamed: Legends of a gem-clad seafarer seeking help To make holy war against the Mighty, dark feigned. Myths of Ancient beings alongside men and elves, Fighting to drive back evil, founded long ago In eternal halls, where the secret chords were sung— Echoing from their maker’s tongue, ominous tones Seeking his own empire: a place where peace is wrung. Reverberating through the heavens with power, The alliance’s charge comes this very hour.
Out of a hole in the ground charged an Englishman, Rushing into certain death, onto No Man’s Land. See the light rising from the deepest pit to stand, From across the sea, sailing from Undying Lands.
Look! In this dark, bleak, and stringent hour of men, Shining like the life water of a distant star, The eternal glow of fellowship with dear friends Giving strength to face death with a courageous charge.