Their’s not to make reply, Their’s not to reason why, Their’s but to do and die - Alfred Tennyson

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do or die.

There's not to reason why,
There's but to do and die

Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die

"Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they." — Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd: Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred.