A Creed
Out of the womb of time and dust of the years forgotten,
Spirit and fire enclosed in mutable flesh and bone,
Came by a road unknown the thing that is me for ever,
The lonely soul of a man that stands by itself alone.
This is the right of my race, the heritage won by my fathers.
Theirs by the years of fighting, theirs by the price they paid,
Making a son like them, careless of hell or heaven,
A man that can look in the face of the gods and be not afraid.
Poor and weak is my strength and I cannot war against heaven.
Strong, too strong are the gods; but there is one thing that
I can
Claim like a man unshamed, the full reward of my virtues,
Pay like a man the price for the sins I sinned as a man.
Now is the time of trial, the end of the years of fighting,
And the echoing gates roll back on the country I cannot see
If it be life that waits I shall live for ever unconquered.
If death I shall die at last strong in my pride and free.
In Memoriam - R. M. Stalker
As I go down the highway,
And through the village street,
I hear the pipers playing
And the tramp of marching feet.
The men I worked and fought with
Swing by me four on four.
And at the end you follow
Whom I shall see no more.
Oh, Stalk, where are you lying ?
Somewhere and far away,
Enemy hands have buried
Your quiet contemptuous clay.
There was no greeting given,
No tear of friend for friend,
From us when you flew over
Exultant to the end.
I couldn't see the paper,
I couldn't think that you
Would never walk the highway
The way you used to do.
I turn at every footfall,
Half-hoping, half -afraid
To see you coming, later
Than usual for parade.
The old Lairg clique is broken,
I drove there yesterday.
And the car was full of ghosts that sat
Beside me all the way.
Ghosts of old songs and laughter,
Ghosts of the jolly three,
That went the road together
And go no more with me.
Oh, Stalk, but I am lonely.
For the old days we knew.
And the bed on the floor at Lesdos
We slept in, I and you.
The joyful nights in billets
We laughed and drank and swore —
But the candle's burned out now, Stalk,
In the mess at Henancourt.
The candle's burned out now, old man.
And the dawn's come grey and cold.
And I sit by the fire here
Alone and sad and old.
Though all the rest come back again.
You lie in a foreign land,
And the strongest link of all the chain
Is broken in my hand.
