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VERSES
VIII. ‘ WITH MILITARY HONOURS’
Take down the helmet from its dusty board.
Lay down his sword
Upon the flag that drapes his narrow bed ;
Pace, horses, with your load,
Down the white road.
Beneath the glare by Eastern sunlight shed.
And you, ye passing men of other race.
Make way, give place
Before a freight more sacred than the gun ;
Dark eyes of each degree
Look up and see
That well-known pageant passing in the sun.
With clank of chain and wheels the carriage goes.
But his repose
Nor sound of arms nor tramp of horse can dim ;
Forward ; the dead-march rolls.
Keep we our souls
Strong for the last that love can do for him.
85

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