Defend, O Lord, this little hill,
this inner field where wars are fought,
this Agincourt of dauntless will,
this Flanders evil empires sought.
Despite not, God, this tiny fort,
this long-held bunker of my faith,
this outpost of the lowest sort,
this oft-contested no-man’s-land.
Descend, my Christ, a charging horse!
O Light Brigade, let battle ring!
O Fusilier, come reinforce
your soil, which gladly greets its King.
Depart, O foes, from Jesu: Lord,
Redeemer, wielding Grace’s sword.


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