The True Sportsman
The real ones, the right ones, the straight ones and the true,
The pukka, peerless sportsmen-their numbers are but few;
The men who keep on playing though the sun be in eclipse,
The men who go on losing with a laugh upon their lips.
The men who care but little for the laurels of renown;
The men who turn their horses back to help the man that's down;
The fearless and the friendly ones, the courtly and the kind;
The men whose lion courage is with gentleness combined.
My notion of a sportsman ? - I'll try, then, to define.
For preference well bred, of course, of some clean- living line;
With pride of place and ancestry whose service was the King's;
With all a noble knight's contempt for low, left- handed things.
Not the ‘good sport' who burdens us with cheap and futile chat
Of the 'pedigree' of this one and the ‘outside chance' of that,
But a man who loves good horses just to handle them and ride
Where the fences call to valour and the English grass lies wide.
All the best and truest sportsmen I have lived with and have known
Have a changeless faith within them which their simple hearts enthrone,
Believing in the God that made the green fields passing fair,
The God that gave good courage - and to every man his share.
And all the truest sportsmen I have met have had this gift:
A love of all the classic books that lighten and uplift;
And all have loved red woodlands, swift birds and coloured flowers;
And all have played with children and counted not the hours.
And I think when God has gathered all the men that He has made,
The perfect British sportsman may stand forward unafraid;
For, brave and kind and courtly, and clean of heart and hand,
No life than his seems nearer to the life our Maker planned.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Veteran
He asks no favour from the Field, no forward place demands
Save what he claims by fearless heart and light and dainty hands;
No man need make a way for him at ditch or gap or gate,
He rides on level terms with all, if not at equal weight
His eyes are somewhat dimmer than they were in days of yore,
A blind fence now might trap him where it never trapped before;
But when the rails stand clean and high, the walls stand big and bare,
There's no man rides so boldly as there's no man rides so fair.
There is no other in the Field so truly loved as he;
We better like to see him out than any younger three;
And yet one horseman day by day rides jealous at his rein
Old Time that smarts beneath the whip of fifty years' disdain.
He crowds him at his fences, for he envies his renown;
Some day he'll Cross him at a leap and bring a good man down,
And Time will take a long revenge for years of laughing scorn,
And fold the faded scarlet that was ne'er more nobly worn.
Here's luck! Oh! good, grey sportsman! May Time be long defied
By careful seat and Cunning hand and health and heart to ride,
And when that direful day be come that surely shall befall,
We'll know you still unbeaten, save by Time that beats us all!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Our Heritage
This is our heritage; the far-flung grass,
The golden stubble and the dark-red moor;
Men pass and perish as the swift years pass,
But wide and wind-swept still the fields endure.
This is our heritage; the love of sport,
A fair ambition and a friendly strife,
The rivalry of farm and camp and court,
The keen endeavour of a clean, hard life.
The hoofs of horses on the trampled lea,
The crash and rattle of the broken rail
Where the first flight ride reckless, knee to knee,
And bold men face the dangers of the vale.
The cry of hounds, the holloa and the horn ;
The lean red shadows where the foxes run;
To these and all their challenge we were born,
And these we leave behind us, sire to son.
This is the heritage that none can take,
The gift we hold, the gift we give again,
And this the spirit that no Time can break,
So long as England and her fields remain.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Thankful Man
My daddy was blue collar
He worked for the man all of his life
He showed up when he didn't want to be there
A man of his word, believed in doing things right
I remember when i was a kid
He'd say time and time again
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
I'm a thankful man for every turn
On every highway I've been down
Every mile I've lost, every crossroad stop
Every storm that turned me around
Oh, it's better than I could have planned
It's made me who I am
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
My mama was a dreamer
But she was the rock that we all leaned on
She taught me about the lessons in life
The difference between what's right and wrong
And every word was a gift from her
That helped me understand
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
I'm a thankful man for every turn
On every highway I've been down
Every mile I've lost, every crossroad stop
Every storm that turned me around
Oh, it's better than I could have planned
It's made me who I am
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
It's better than I could have planned
It's made me who I am
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
t's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thankful Man
My daddy was blue collar
He worked for the man all of his life
He showed up when he didn't want to be there
A man of his word, believed in doing things right
I remember when i was a kid
He'd say time and time again
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
I'm a thankful man for every turn
On every highway I've been down
Every mile I've lost, every crossroad stop
Every storm that turned me around
Oh, it's better than I could have planned
It's made me who I am
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
My mama was a dreamer
But she was the rock that we all leaned on
She taught me about the lessons in life
The difference between what's right and wrong
And every word was a gift from her
That helped me understand
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
I'm a thankful man for every turn
On every highway I've been down
Every mile I've lost, every crossroad stop
Every storm that turned me around
Oh, it's better than I could have planned
It's made me who I am
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
It's better than I could have planned
It's made me who I am
It's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
t's a good life; it's a real good life
And I'm a thankful man
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spartan Mother
My mother loved her horses and
Her hounds of pedigree;
She did not kiss the baby hand
I held to her in glee.
Of course I had a sweet nou-nou
Who tended me with care,
And mother reined her nag to view
Me with a critic air.
So I went to a famous school,
But holidays were short;
My mother thought me just a fool,
Unfit for games and sport.
For I was fond of books and art,
And hated hound and steed:
Said Mother, 'Boy, you break my heart!
You are not of our breed.'
Then came the War. The Mater said:
'Thank God, a son I give
To King and Country,'--well, I'm dead
Who would have loved to live.
'For England's sake,' said she, 'he died.
For that my boy I bore.'
And now she talks of me with pride.
A hero of the War.
Mother, I think that you are glad
I ended up that way.
Your horses and your dogs you had,
And still you have today.
Your only child you say you gave
Your Country to defend . . .
Dear Mother, from a hero's grave
I--curse you in the end.
poem by Robert William Service
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Gawain
Helluva day the day I fought
the lion to the death
when the women found me
prone across its flanks
and couldn't work out
whose blood was whose
“Pardon me that you see me
in this disgraceful condition
I hope you won't mention it
to anybody,” I said
They took me upstairs
with my 500 wounds
(where the enchanted women were 500,
though that was coincidence
rather than symbolism)
I looked from one woman
to the other
and my heart was simply aching
I had had courage
I had had great one-pointedness
when I sliced at the lion
as he lashed. “You feel pretty fancy,”
the women said, “with that lion paw
stuck in your shield,
don't you? But you do much harm
through courage.”
I conceded the point
It was that kind of century
It was a long day
Still the damned Green Knight to go
What a saga
I knew how to pack it in tight
I looked from woman to woman
and my heart was simply aching
Three red drops in the snow
that's life
or a castle to curl up in
hallways wide enough for horses
a bed of straw to dream in
the hoar frost is evaporated
an end to all this staggering
I was not entirely good but I
became entire
poem by Luke Davies
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An Idyll of Dandaloo
On Western plains, where shade is not,
'Neath summer skies of cloudless blue,
Where all is dry and all is hot,
There stands the town of Dandaloo --
A township where life's total sum
Is sleep, diversified with rum.
Its grass-grown streets with dust are deep;
'Twere vain endeavour to express
The dreamless silence of its sleep,
Its wide, expansive drunkenness.
The yearly races mostly drew
A lively crowd at Dandaloo.
There came a sportsman from the East,
The eastern land where sportsmen blow,
And brought with him a speedy beast --
A speedy beast as horses go.
He came afar in hope to "do"
The little town of Dandaloo.
Now this was weak of him, I wot --
Exceeding weak, it seemed to me --
For we in Dandaloo were not
The Jugginses we seemed to be;
In fact, we rather thought we knew
Our book by heart in Dandaloo.
We held a meeting at the bar,
And met the question fair and square --
"We've stumped the country near and far
To raise the cash for races here;
We've got a hundred pounds or two --
Not half so bad for Dandaloo.
"And now, it seems we have to be
Cleaned out by this here Sydney bloke,
With his imported horse; and he
Will scoop the pool and leave us broke.
Shall we sit still, and make no fuss
While this chap climbs all over us?"
*
The races came to Dandaloo,
And all the cornstalks from the West
On every kind of moke and screw
Come forth in all their glory drest.
The stranger's horse, as hard as nails,
Look'd fit to run for New South Wales.
He won the race by half a length --
Quite half a length, it seemed to me --
But Dandaloo, with all its strength,
Roared out "Dead heat!" most fervently;
And, sfter hesitation meet,
The judge's verdict was "Dead heat!"
And many men there were could tell
What gave the verdict extra force.
The stewards -- and the judge as well --
They all had backed the second horse.
For things like this they sometimes do
In larger towns than Dandaloo.
They ran it off, the stranger won,
Hands down, by near a hundred yards.
He smiled to think his troubles done;
But Dandaloo held all the cards.
They went to scale and -- cruel fate --
His jockey turned out under weight.
Perhaps they's tampered with the scale!
I cannot tell. I only know
It weighed him out all right. I fail
To paint that Sydney sportsman's woe.
He said the stewards were a crew
Of low-lived thieves in Dandaloo.
He lifted up his voice, irate,
And swore till all the air was blue;
So then we rose to vindicate
The dignity of Dandaloo.
"Look here," said we, "you must not poke
Such oaths at us poor country folk."
We rode him softly on a rail,
We shied at him, in careless glee,
Some large tomatoes, rank and stale,
And eggs of great antiquity --
Their wild, unholy fregrance flew
About the town of Dandaloo.
He left the town at break of day,
He led his racehorse through the streets,
And now he tells the tale, they say,
To every racing man he meets.
And Sydney sportsmen all eschew
The atmosphere of Dandaloo.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Puppet On A String
(words & music by tepper - bennett)
Every time you look at me
I,m as helpless as can be
I become a puppet on a string
You can do most anything to me
All you do is touch my hand
And your wish is my command
I become a puppet on a string
You can do most anything to me
If you really love me
Darling please be kind
I offer you the truest love
That you will ever find
Take my heart and please be fair
Handle it with loving care
For Im just a puppet on a string
You can do most anything to me
If you really love me
Darling please be kind
I offer you the truest love
That you will ever find
Take my heart and please be fair
Handle it with loving care
For Im just a puppet on a string
You can do most anything to me
You can do most anything to me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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HE Said
He said 'Walk with Me.' we walked.
Looking back to where we had been.
Desolation now a garden.
Storm and tempest calmed.
He said 'Share with me your faith.'
In His hands I placed my faith.
He gave me courage.
With Him He took my fears.
Unafraid I tread dark paths.
I hesitated not nor stumbled.
His gift of courage
lighted my way.
He said 'Believe in Me.'
I promised Him I would.
Believing in Him
His strength became mine.
'Look through My eyes.' He said.
'I will share with you
the love the beauty the peace
through all eternity.'
I looked through His eyes
and saw everything.
And it was
as He had said.
(20AUG93)
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today’s American
Growing up in today’s world,
You see the beauty in forgiveness,
In flowers of Arizona,
but do you rarely see it in a love letter,
or even someone's smile,
what is happening to us?
have we forgotten how to love?
You would believe that guilt and pain,
Is truly real when someone dies,
A part of you is killed within as well.
When you sleep and dreaming away,
The hand on your heart will,
Ignite the fire even in April to go to college,
Only if you clean up your act.
I belong to the land of the free,
Whose strive forward was made from,
Love, passion, pride, and being proud to be an American,
That screams out in Joy with a lion’s courage
and I am too growing up learning all these things
to pass them on to the next little boy who wants to play with GI Jo's.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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The riders of the plains
Who is it lacks the knowledge? Who are the curs that dare
To whine and sneer that they do not fear the whelps in the Lion's lair?
But we of the North will answer, while life in the North remains,
Let the curs beware lest the whelps they dare are the Riders of the Plains;
For these are the kind whose muscle makes the power of the Lion's jaw,
And they keep the peace of our people and the honour of British law.
A woman has painted a picture,--'tis a neat little bit of art
The critics aver, and it roused up for her the love of the big British heart.
'Tis a sketch of an English bulldog that tigers would scarce attack,
And round and about and beneath him is painted the Union Jack.
With its blaze of colour, and courage, its daring in every fold,
And underneath is the title, "What we have we'll hold."
'Tis a picture plain as a mirror, but the reflex it contains
Is the counterpart of the life and heart of the Riders of the Plains;
For like to that flag and that motto, and the power of that bulldog's jaw,
They keep the peace of our people and the honour of British law.
These are the fearless fighters, whose life in the open lies,
Who never fail on the prairie trail 'neath the Territorial skies,
Who have laughed in the face of the bullets and the edge of the rebels' steel,
Who have set their ban on the lawless man with his crime beneath their heel;
These are the men who battle the blizzards, the suns, the rains,
These are the famed that the North has named the "Riders of the Plains,"
And theirs is the might and the meaning and the strength of the bulldog's jaw,
While they keep the peace of the people and the honour of British law.
These are the men of action, who need not the world's renown,
For their valour is known to England's throne as a gem in the British crown;
These are the men who face the front, whose courage the world may scan,
The men who are feared by the felon, but are loved by the honest man;
These are the marrow, the pith, the cream, the best that the blood contains,
Who have cast their days in the valiant ways of the Riders of the Plains;
And theirs is the kind whose muscle makes the power of old England's jaw,
And they keep the peace of her people and the honour of British law.
Then down with the cur that questions,--let him slink to his craven den,--
For he daren't deny our hot reply as to "who are our mounted men."
He shall honour them east and westward, he shall honour them south and north,
He shall bare his head to that coat of red wherever that red rides forth.
'Tis well that he knows the fibre that the great North-West contains,
The North-West pride in her men that ride on the Territorial plains,--
For of such as these are the muscles and the teeth in the Lion's jaw,
And they keep the peace of our people and the honour of British law.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Puppet On A String (#10)
Every time you look at me
I,m as helpless as can be
I become a puppet on a string
You can do 'most anything to me
All you do is touch my hand
And your wish is my command
I become a puppet on a string
You can do 'most anything to me
If you really love me
Darling please be kind
I offer you the truest love
That you will ever find
Take my heart and please be fair
Handle it with loving care
For I'm just a puppet on a string
You can do 'most anything to me
If you really love me
Darling please be kind
I offer you the truest love
That you will ever find
Take my heart and please be fair
Handle it with loving care
For I'm just a puppet on a string
You can do 'most anything to me
You can do 'most anything to me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's Good
Life's like a mayonnaise soda
And life's like space without room
And life's like bacon and ice cream
That's what life's like without you
Life's like forever becoming
But life's forever dealing in hurt
Now life's like death without living
That's what life's like without you
Life's like Sanskrit read to a pony
I see you in my mind's eye strangling on your tongue
What's good is knowing such devotion
I've been around - I know what makes things run
What good is seeing eye chocolate
What good's a computerized nose
And what good was cancer in April
Why no good - no good at all
What good's a war without killing
What good is rain that falls up
What good's a disease that won't hurt you
Why no good, I guess, no good at all
What good are these thoughts that I'm thinking
It must be better not to be thinking at all
A styrofoam lover with emotions of concrete
No not much, not much at all
What's good is life without living
What good's this lion that barks
You loved a life others throw away nightly
It's not fair, not fair at all
What's good ?
Life's good -
But not fair at all
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Son's Sorrow
FROM THE ICELANDIC.
The King has asked of his son so good,
“Why art thou hushed and heavy of mood?
O fair it is to ride abroad.
Thou playest not, and thou laughest not;
All thy good game is clean forgot.”
“Sit thou beside me, father dear,
And the tale of my sorrow shalt thou hear.
Thou sendedst me unto a far-off land,
And gavest me into a good Earl’s hand.
Now had this good Earl daughters seven,
The fairest of maidens under heaven.
One brought me my meat when I should dine,
One cut and sewed my raiment fine.
One washed and combed my yellow hair,
And one I fell to loving there.
Befell it on so fair a day,
We minded us to sport and play.
Down in a dale my horse bound I,
Bound on my saddle speedily.
Bright red she was as the flickering flame
When to my saddle-bow she came.
Beside my saddle-bow she stood,
‘To flee with thee to my heart were good.’
Kind was my horse and good to aid,
My love upon his back I laid.
We gat us from the garth away,
And none was ware of us that day.
But as we rode along the sand
Behold a barge lay by the land.
So in that boat did we depart,
And rowed away right glad at heart.
When we came to the dark wood and the shade
To raise the tent my true-love bade.
Three sons my true-love bore me there,
And syne she died who was so dear.
A grave I wrought her with my sword,
With my fair shield the mould I poured.
First in the mould I laid my love,
Then all my sons her breast above.
And I without must lie alone;
So from the place I gat me gone.”
No man now shall stand on his feet
To love that love, to woo that sweet:
O fair it is to ride abroad.
poem by William Morris
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Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)
Where were you when the world stopped turnin' on that September day
Were you in the yard with your wife and children
Or workin' on some stage in L.A.
Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke
Risin' against that blue sky
Did you shout out in anger in fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry
Did you weep for the children, they lost their dear loved ones
Or pray for the ones who don't know
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below
Did you burst out with pride for the red, white and blue
For the heroes who died just doin' what they do
Did you look up to Heaven for some kind of answer
And look at yourself and what really matters
I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love
Where were you when the world stopped turnin' on that September day
Teachin' a class full of innocent children
Or drivin' down some cold interstate
Did you feel guilty cause you're a survivor
In a crowded room did you feel alone
Did you call up your mother and tell her you loved her
Did you dust off that bible at home
Did you open your eyes and hoped it never happened
Close your eyes and not go to sleep
Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages
Speak to some stranger on the street
Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow
Go out and buy you a gun
Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'
And turn on "I Love Lucy" reruns
Did you go to a church and hold hands with some strangers
Or stand in line and give your own blood
Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family
Thank God you had somebody to love
I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love
I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love
The greatest is love
And the greatest is love
Where were you when the world stopped turnin' on that September day
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Share The Ride
Hey there buddy
Slow down for me
Im friendly and Im clean
I will not rob you or cause you misery
Your wheels sound good to me
I aint green with travel
As you can see
I only got one bag
If I am trouble drop me off
In abilene
Ill pay my gasoline
Chorus
Let me share the ride
Let me share the ride
Its hard living on travel time
Please let me share your ride
I never was a young man
Never felt old
This life is a mystery
My coffees hot not cold
Ill turn your dashboard gold
Slow down take a look at me
Im not not running from anything
Ive no past to hide
Ive got no secrets haunting me
I just easy ride
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Look At You
What is the name to call
For a different kind of girl
Who knows the feelings
But never the words
To look at you
And never speak
Is so good
For me tonight
Who do you ask when theres no one left to turn to
You ask me and Ill always try to hear
Past money and colours and make believe
Good cheap values for a thrifty clown
What do you fear in the simple still of a summers night
I understand I sympathize for a daydream
Fairytales and I love you
What is the name to call
For a different kind of girl
Who knows the feelings
And never the words
To this
Real life documentary
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Hunting Song
Forward! Hark forward's the cry!
One more fence and we're out on the open,
So to us at once, if you want to live near us!
Hark to them, ride to them, beauties! as on they go,
Leaping and sweeping away in the vale below!
Cowards and bunglers, whose heart or whose eye is slow,
Find themselves staring alone.
So the great cause flashes by;
Nearer and clearer its purposes open,
While louder and prouder the world-echoes cheer us:
Gentlemen sportsmen, you ought to live up to us,
Lead us, and lift us, and hallo our game to us-
We cannot call the hounds off, and no shame to us-
Don't be left staring alone!
Eversley, 1849.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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A Song Of Trafalgar
LIKE an angry sun, like a splendid star,
War gleams down the long years' track;
They strain at the leash, the dogs of war,
And who shall hold them back?
'Let loose the pack: we are English bred,
We will meet them full and fair
With the flag of England over our head,
And his hand to keep it there!'
So spake our fathers. Our flag, unfurled,
Blew brave to the north and south;
An iron answer we gave the world,
For we spoke by the cannon's mouth.
But he who taught us the word to say
Grew dumb as his Victory sang,
And England mourned on her triumph day,
And wept while her joy-bells rang.
Long hour by hour, and long day by day,
The swift years crept apace,
The patient, the coral-insect way,
To cover the dear dead face.
O foolish rabble of envious years,
Who wist not the dead must rise,
His name is music still in our ears,
His face a light to our eyes!
Bring hither your laurels, the fading sign
Of a deathless love and pride;
These cling more close than the laurels twine,
They are strong as the world is wide:
At the feet of Virtue in Valour clad
Shall glory and love be laid,
While Glory sings to an English lad,
Or Love to an English maid.
Wherever the gleams of an English fire
On an English roof-tree shine,
Wherever the fire of a youth's desire
Is laid upon Honour's shrine,
Wherever brave deeds are treasured and told,
In the tale of the deeds of yore
Like jewels of price in a chain of gold
Are the name and the fame he bore.
Wherever the track of our English ships
Lies white on the ocean foam,
His name is sweet to our English lips
As the names of the flowers at home;
Wherever the heart of an English boy
Grows big with a deed of worth,
Such names as his name have begot the same,
Such hearts will bring it to birth.
They say that his England, grown tired and old,
Lies drunk by her heavy hoard;
They say her hands have the grasp of the gold
But not the grip of the sword,
That her robe of glory is rent and shred,
And that winds of shame blow through:
Speak for your England, O mighty Dead,
In the deeds you would have her do!
Small skill have we to fight with the pen
Who fought with the sword of old,
For the sword that is wielded of Englishmen
Is as much as one hand can hold.
Yet the pen and the tongue are safe to use,
And the coward and the wise choose these;
But fools and brave were our English crews
When Nelson swept the seas.
'Tis the way of a statesman to fear and fret,
To ponder and pause and plan,
But the way of Nelson was better yet,
For that was the way of a man;
They would teach us smoothness, who once were rough,
They have bidden us palter and pray,
But the way of Nelson was good enough,
For that was the fighting way.
If Nelson's England must stoop to bear
What never honour should brook,
In vain does the tomb of her hero wear
The laurel his brow forsook;
In vain was the speech from the lips of her guns,
If now must her lips refrain;
In vain has she made us, her living sons,
Her dead have made her in vain.
So here with your bays be the dear head crowned,
Lay flowers where the dear dust lies,
And wreathe his column with laurel round
To point his fame to the skies;
But the greenest laurel that ever grew
Is the laurel that's yet to win;
Crowned with his laurels he waits for You
To bring Your laurels in!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Predestined
Dear, we might have known you were
To die young--and were we blind
To the light on face and hair?
Dear, so simple and so kind.
You were clean as your own sword
And as straight too and steel true.
In the Army of the Lord
What promotion waits for you!
I can see you where you stand,
Knightly soul, so clean, so brave.
With a new sword in your hand
Where the lilied banners wave.
Flower of simple chivalry,
Marked for honour and for grace;
It was very plain to see
The clear shining of your face.
You are gone now: it's turned cold:
Very good you were and dear.
Wear the looks you wore of old
When we meet,--some other year.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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