austere, unpitying Grave. p. 100IN MEMORIAM THOMAS EDWARD BROWN p. 100 (Ob. October 30, 1897) He looked half-parson and half-skipper: a quaint, Beautiful blend, with blue eyes good to see, And old-world whiskers. You found him cynic, saint, Salt, humourist, Christian, poet; with a free, Far-glancing, luminous utterance; and a heart Large as St. Francis’s: withal a brain Stored with experience, letters, fancy, art, And scored with runes of human joy and pain. Till six-and-sixty years he used his gift, His gift unparalleled, of laughter and tears, And left the world a high-piled, golden drift Of verse: to grow more golden with the years, Till the Great Silence fallen upon his ways Break into song, and he that had Love have Praise. St. Francis’s p. 101IN MEMORIAM GEORGE WARRINGTON STEEVENS p. 101 London, December 10, 1869. Ladysmith, January 15, 1900. We cheered you forth—brilliant and kind and brave. Under your country’s triumphing flag you fell. It floats, true Heart, over no dearer grave— Brave and brilliant and kind, hail and farewell! p. 102LAST POST p. 102 The day’s high work is over and done, And these no more will need the sun: Blow, you bugles of England, blow! These are gone whither all must go, Mightily gone from the field they won. So in the workaday wear of battle, Touched to glory with God’s own red, Bear we our chosen to their bed. Settle them lovingly where they fell, In that good lap they loved so well; And, their deliveries to the dear Lord said, And the last desperate volleys ranged and sped, Blow, you bugles of England, blow Over the camps of her beaten foe— Blow glory and pity to the victor Mother, Sad, O, sad in her sacrificial dead! England God’s Lord England
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