From ill-requited toil he turned To ride with Picton and with Pack, Among his grammars inly burned To storm the Afghan mountain-track. When midnight chimed, before Quebec He watched with Wolfe till the morning star; At noon he saw from _Victory's_ deck The sweep and splendour of England's war. {73} Beyond the book his teaching sped, He left on whom he taught the trace Of kinship with the deathless dead, And faith in all the Island Race. He passed: his life a tangle seemed, His age from fame and power was far; But his heart was high to the end, and dreamed Of the sound and splendour of England's war. {74} _The Non-Combatant_ Among a race high-handed, strong of heart, Sea-rovers, conquerors, builders in the waste, He had his birth; a nature too complete, Eager and doubtful, no man's soldier sworn And no man's chosen captain; born to fail, A name without an echo: yet he too Within the cloister of his narrow days Fulfilled the ancestral rites, and kept alive The eternal fire; it may be, not in vain; For out of those who dropped a downward glance Upon the weakling huddled at his prayers, Perchance some looked beyond him, and then first Beheld the glory, and what shrine it filled, And to what Spirit sacred: or perchance Some heard him chanting, though but to himself, The old heroic names: and went their way: And hummed his music on the march to death. {75} _Sacramentum Supremum_ MUKDEN, MARCH 6TH, 1905 Ye that with me have fought and failed and fought To the last desperate trench of battle's crest, Not yet to sleep, not yet; our work is nought; On that last trench the fate of all may rest, Draw near, my friends; and let your thoughts be high; Great hearts are glad when it is time to give; Life is no life to him that dares not die, And death no death to him that dares to live. Draw near together; none be last or first; We are no longer names, but one desire; With the same burning of the soul we thirst, And the same wine to-night shall quench our fire. Drink! to our fathers who begot us men, To the dead voices that are never dumb; Then to the land of all our loves, and then To the long parting, and the age to come. {76} _Clifton Chapel_ This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one by one The touch of Life has turned to truth. Here in a day that is not far, You too may speak with noble ghosts Of manhood and the vows of war You made before the Lord of Hosts. To set the cause above renown, To love the game beyond the prize, To honour, while you strike him down, The foe that comes with fearless eyes; To count the life of battle good, And dear the land that gave you birth, And dearer yet the brotherhood That binds the brave of all the earth--