Yet maybe Fame's but seeming And praise you'd set aside, Content to go on dreaming, Yea, happy to have died If of all things you prayed for-- All things your valour paid for-- One prayer is not forgotten, One purchase not denied. But God grants your dear England A strength that shall not cease Till she have won for all the Earth From ruthless men release, And made supreme upon her Mercy and Truth and Honour-- Is this the thing you died for? Oh, Brothers, sleep in peace! _Robert Ernest Vernède_ THE OLD SOLDIER Lest the young soldiers be strange in heaven, God bids the old soldier they all adored Come to Him and wait for them, clean, new-shriven, A happy doorkeeper in the House of the Lord. Lest it abash them, the strange new splendour, Lest it affright them, the new robes clean; Here's an old face, now, long-tried, and tender, A word and a hand-clasp as they troop in. "My boys," he greets them: and heaven is homely, He their great captain in days gone o'er; Dear is the friend's face, honest and comely, Waiting to welcome them by the strange door. _Katharine Tynan_ LORD KITCHENER Unflinching hero, watchful to foresee And face thy country's peril wheresoe'er, Directing war and peace with equal care, Till by long duty ennobled thou wert he Whom England call'd and bade "Set my arm free To obey my will and save my honour fair,"-- What day the foe presumed on her despair And she herself had trust in none but thee: Among Herculean deeds the miracle That mass'd the labour of ten years in one Shall be thy monument. Thy work was done Ere we could thank thee; and the high sea swell Surgeth unheeding where thy proud ship fell By the lone Orkneys, at the set of sun. _Robert Bridges_ _June 8, 1916_ KITCHENER There is wild water from the north; The headlands darken in their foam As with a threat of challenge stubborn earth Booms at that far wild sea-line charging home. The night shall stand upon the shifting sea As yesternight stood there, And hear the cry of waters through the air, The iron voice of headlands start and rise-- The noise of winds for mastery That screams to hear the thunder in those cries. But now henceforth there shall be heard From Brough of Bursay, Marwick Head, And shadows of the distant coast, Another voice bestirred-- Telling of something greatly lost Somewhere below the tidal glooms, and dead. Beyond the uttermost Of aught the night may hear on any seas From tempest-known wild water's cry, and roar Of iron shadows looming from the shore, It shall be heard--and when the Orcades Sleep in a hushed Atlantic's starry folds As smoothly as, far down below the tides, Sleep on the windless broad sea-wolds Where this night's shipwreck hides.