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

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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! Amelia Josephine Burr

E 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.