Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet I've called His name in blessing
When in after times I died.
Through the travail of the ages
Midst the pomp and toil of war
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.
I have sinned and I have suffered
Played the hero and the knave
Fought for belly, shame or country
And for each have found a grave.
So as through a glass and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names - but always me.
So forever in the future
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter
But to die again once more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem