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. - Alfred Tennyson

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

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

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

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die

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

"I'll never love any but you," the morning song of the lark; "I'll never love any but you," the nightingale's hymn in the dark.

The old order changes, giving place to the new... least on good custom should corrupts the world.

Heaven weeps above the earth all night till morn,
In darkness weeps, as all ashamed to weep,
Because the earth hath made her state forlorn
With selfwrought evils of unnumbered years,
And doth the fruit of her dishonour reap.
And all the day heaven gathers back her tears
Into her own blue eyes so clear and deep,
And showering down the glory of lightsome day,
Smiles on the earth's worn brow to win her if she may.