We are the few

Burnt in Hell, healed in Heaven.

Rallied under the banner

  Of the oppressed

    We march into battle to the cry

       Of the poor, the dying, the destitute

           Haunted by the nameless dark lurking in the dusk

              We stumble, we fall

                  Some of our comrades are lost

                  We mourn as those who mourned before us

                      As those who will follow us.

                        But we rise, we always rise . .. .

                          No! We do not rise, we are lfted

                             Lifted by He who fell first

                                Lifted by what is not ours

                                  Lifted by He who will never die

                                    Never surrender, never forsake

                                        And we march again.