This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint...
I'll be standing at the portals
When the gates open wide,
At the close of life's long, dreary day.
I sing a song of the saints of God,
patient and brave and true,
who toiled and fought and lived and died
for the Lord they loved and knew.
The shadow of a mighty Rock within a weary land,
A home within the wilderness, a rest upon the way,
from the burning of the noontide heat, and the burden of the day.
Come, ye thankful people, come,
raise the song of harvest home;