Wanlockhead.

On the death of their son, Private Robert Slimmon, Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry, while serving his country in Egypt.

Dear friends, the news has come to hand, I scarce can think it true; With heart that's sore I pen my thoughts And send them on to you. We cannot read the hand of Fate Or what's in store foretell; We know not why his life was claimed, A life that promised well.

Fair as the noon of summer day, Or like a flower in spring, Or like the glint of morning sun That makes the wild birds sing; Such was his life. We had a glimpse That filled our hearts with joy; Alas! the rose but hid the thorn As gold hides the alloy.

When loose becomes the silver cord, And broken by death's strain, The body crumbles, but the soul Returns to God again-- To where the wondrous might of love Is voiced in deathless song. Have faith: its power will fit our boy To join the angel throng.

And so, methinks, we should not mourn Or question dispensation; To know he did his duty well Must be our consolation. And while the months and years roll on His memory let us cherish, And ne'er forget our bright young friend Till mind and mem'ry perish.

DR WILSON, WANLOCKHEAD.