‘Soldiers of the SAS.’

Why do these brave men go, where angels fear to tread?
Through the darkest valley deep and over lands of dead
These pilgrims of the Crown; always further they shall go
Beyond the last Blue Mountains, ever barred by snow
Across those seething angry, or calm glimmering seas
And through humid jungle with mighty towering trees
Across a raging river, with crocodiles so full
Face an angry enemy, who charges like a bull
Sometimes in dugout ditches, they live from night to day
I’ve seen one of these stalwarts, actually kneel and pray
Professional and tough, some die on duty alas
No soldier comes quite near them: The men of the SAS