The Comrades

The angels walk with men in the red ruin and rain, White and gold, as of old, without spot or stain. Our warriors fought and died, the white lords by their side. The angels walk with men. God doth not forget in the battle, the retreat; The heart of Love's above the dying and the slain. There's a ladder to the skies and, armed from Paradise, The angels walk with men. Foot-soldiers, cavaliers, the flame on their spears, They sweep fast in haste o'er the bloody plain. What ill shall betide us with the winged knights beside us? The angels walk with men. Golden-mailed, lance in arm, they ride on the storm -- Michael and a poor soldier are comrades twain! Oh, in the noise of battle, the red roar and the rattle, The angels walk with men!