Trail All Your Pikes

    March in a slow procession from afar，

    Ye silent，ye dejected， men of war.

    Be still the hautboys，and the flute be dumb！

    Display no more，in vain，the lofty banner；

    For see where on the bier before ye lies

    The pale，the fall'n，the untimely sacrifice

    To your mistaken shrine，to your false idol Honour.