Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/387

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THE FALLEN
387

Of his patience, of his calm,
Of his quiet faithfulness,
England, build your hero's cairn!
He was worthy of no less.
Stone by stone, in silence laid,
Singly, surely, let it grow.
He whose living was to serve
Would have had it so.


There's a body drifting down
For the mighty sea to keep.
There's a spirit cannot die
While one heart is left to leap
In the land he gave his all,
Steeled alike to praise and hate.
He has saved the life he spent—
Death has struck too late.


Not the muffled drums for him
Nor the wailing of the fife—
Trumpets blaring to the charge
Were the music of his life.
Let the music of his death
Be the feet of marching men.
Let his heart a thousandfold
Take the field again!

[From Life and Living. Copyright, 1917, by George H. Doran Company.]


TO THE MEMORY OF FIELD-MARSHAL EARL ROBERTS

OF KANDAHAR AND PRETORIA

Born, 1832. Died, on Service at the Front, Nov. 14th, 1914.

[Reprinted by permission of the Proprietors of Punch.]

HE died, as soldiers die, amid the strife,
Mindful of England in his latest prayer;
God, of His love, would have so fair a life
Crowned with a death as fair.