POETRY.
GIFTS OF THE DEAD. Vs who in Sorrow's tents abide, Mourning your dead with bidden tears, Bethink yo what a wealth of pride They've won you for the coming yea..
Grievous the pain; but, in the day When all the cost is counted o'er, Would it be best that ye should say : " Wo lost no loved ones in the war "? Who knows? But proud then shall ye stand That hest, most honoured boast to make : "My lover died for his dear land," Or, "My son fell for England's sake." Christlike they died that we might live; And our redeemed lives would we bring, With aught that gratitude may give To serve you in your sorrowing.
And never a pathway shall ye tread, No foot of seashore, hill, pr lea, But ye may think : "The dead, toy dead, Gave this, a sacred gift, to me."
Heneserox /MMUS.
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