To the Memory of Field-Marshal Earl Roberts

HE 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.

He might not lead the battle as of old, But, as of old, among his own he went, Breathing a faith that never once grew cold, A courage still unspent.

So was his end; and, in that hour, across The face of War a wind of silence blew, And bitterest foes paid tribute to the loss Of a great heart and true.

But we who loved him, what have we to lay For sign of worship on his warrior-bier? What homage, could his lips but speak to-day, Would he have held most dear?

Not grief, as for a life untimely reft; Not vain regret for counsel given in vain; Not pride of that high record he had left, Peerless and pure of stain;

But service of our lives to keep her free, The land he served; a pledge above his grave To give her even such a gift as he, The soul of loyalty, gave.