Onward Poem by Nathan Beery

From my perch, upon this hill,
I look down, upon this field,
as like the waves of golden grain,
these tides sway before me,
Soon to be another color stain'
in uniform color, and silver points,
the air is filled with struggled strain,

I'm sure wracked of both body and brain,
as surely as myself, I give few words,
To ward off this heavy burden,
sacrifice for victory anything,
but waste not what can be saved
we will rest here on this hill,
Soon life's shackles will be enslaved.