O tears of human passion, Blur not the image true; This was not folly's fashion, This was the man we knew. The Only Son O Bitter wind toward the sunset blowing, What of the dales to-night? In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing, What ring of festal light? "In the great window as the day was dwindling I saw an old man stand; His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling, But the list shook in his hand." O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered, No sound of joy or wail? "'A great fight and a good death,' he muttered; 'Trust him, he would not fail.'" What of the chamber dark where she was lying; For whom all life is done? "Within her heart she rocks a dead child, crying 'My son, my ltttle son.'" The Grenadier's Good-Bye "When Lieutenant Murray fell, the only words he spoke were, 'Forward, Grenadiers!'"---Press Telegram. Here they halted, here once more Hand from hand was rent; Here his voice above the roar Rang, and on they went. Yonder out of sight they crossed, Yonder died the cheers; One word lives where all is lost--- "Forward, Grenadiers!" This alone he asked of fame, This alone of pride; Still with this he faced the flame, Answered Death, and died. Crest of battle sunward tossed, Song of the marching years, This shall live though all be lost--- "Forward, Grenadiers!" The Schoolfellow Our game was his but yesteryear; We wished him back; we could not know The self-same hour we missed him here He led the line that broke the foe. Blood-red behind our guarded posts Sank as of old and dying day; The battle ceased; the mingled hosts Weary and cheery went their way: "To-morrow well may bring," we said, "As fair a fight, as clear a sun." Dear lad, before the world was sped, For evermore thy goal was won. On Spion Kop Foremost of all on battle's fiery steep Here VERTUE fell, and here he sleeps his sleep.* A fairer name no Roman ever gave To stand sole monument on Valour's grave. * Major N. H. Vertue, of the Buffs, Brigade-Major to General Woodgate, was buried where he fell, on the edge of Spion Kop, in front of the British position. The School At War All night before the brink of death In fitful sleep the army lay, For through the dream that stilled their breath Too gauntly glared the coming day. But we, within whose blood there leaps The fulness of a life as wide As Avon's water where he sweeps Seaward at last with Severn's tide, We heard beyond the desert night The murmur of the fields we knew, And our swift souls with one delight Like homing swallows Northward flew. We played again the immortal games, And grappled with the fierce old friends, And cheered the dead undying names, And sang the song that never ends; Till, when the hard, familiar bell Told that the summer night was late, Where long ago we said farewell We said farewell by the old gate.