POETRY.
"THE PITY OF IT."
"NEVER to know the day was ours; Never to hear my comrades' shout ' Victory! see the enemy cowers ' : Never to see the German rout."
"Never to hear of England's glory, Never to know our cause was won. Never to hear the old, old story, 'British soldier, well done, well done.'" Oh Death, this is thy sting. Oh Grave, this is thy victory.
Yet shall thy name in town and tillage, Graven in brass or lasting stone, Serve as a seed for patriots' tillage, Blood of our blood and bone of our bone.
When the cause is won and the bells are ringing, You will live in many a. countryside: And "forty years on" there will boys be singing Your memory still, young England's pride!
Oh Death, where is thy sting? Oh Grave, where is thy victory ?
S. L. H.
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