Classic Poem

Up the hill, mine honored Gray!
We are going home — " to stay! "

Around the hill, below the heights,
Cling the glooms and gleam the lights.

Glamour of the evil eyes!
Spume of hate that never dies!

Let the cauldron boil below!
Wish the world a fairer foe!

Balsam to our battle-scars
Climbing nearer to the stars.

Homeward with the rapture that
Beached the ark on Ararat.

All the ways of war and weather
We have worn the harness leather.

Days with never cymbal-beat,
Save the music of thy feet.

Nights with never star or guide,
Save the glimmer of thy hide.

Stained with all the tints of toil
And " variations of the soil, "

Deeper tinct with every stain
The tireless wine-press wrings from pain,

Not the frosted hills display
Richer dapple, oh, my Gray!

Not the vales at vintage hold
Riper deeps of gloom and gold.

Up the hill, oh, grace and speed,
And power unplummeted of need!

These have cheered the night agone,
These are musical at dawn.

Ringing to the bright'ning dome,
Climbing upwards, onwards, home!

Far above the cauldron's spume,
With starry cross and stainless plume,

We have shared the " corn " and heather,
We are going home together.

On thy crest this loving sign,
Be my Lord's white mark on mine!