Classic Poem

When by the Tugela's bank the Terrible Ones
Thundered in vain their storm upon the wall,
And sudden, caught by hail of rifle ball,
Our men and horse went down beside the guns;
Then learned we well how true the red blood runs
From sire to child, for many brave did fall,
But none more swift to hear his country's call
Than that heroic soul that is your son's.

Go forth, grey-headed warrior whom we love—
Known by familiar name the army thro',
Go forth—the son who in these five short years
Had faced the Pathan, met the Madhi's spears,
Lies in calm earth your hand must fight above:
That holy grave claims guardianship of you.