WHEN the heroic deeds that mark our time Shall, in far days to come, recorded be, Men, much forgetting, shall remember thee, Thou central martyr of the Monster-Crime, Who kept thy soul clear of the ooze and slime— The quicksands of deceit and perjury— A living thing, unconquered still and free, Through superhuman sacrifice sublime. O Serbia! amid thy ruins great, Love is immortal; there's an end to hate, Always there will be dawn, though dark the night. Look up, thou tragic Glory! Even now, The thorny round that binds thy bleeding brow Is as a crown irradiating light! |