Classic Poem

On the hill of the pigeons
Is a little cross: —
" Queen and Country. Jesu mercy " —
Telling Homeland's loss.

'Tis no mound of victor-laurels —
But a place of skulls,
Where the Rose and Thistle withered
In the volley's lulls.

There the everlastings redden,
On its windy crest,
Hyacinthine emblems, tinted
From each fallen breast.

All the kloofs with bullets riddled,
Honour in the van —
Death, as light as wild-dove feathers,
To each corps and clan.

Treeless acres, dreary girdlers
Of the sky-crowned dead,
Stretch to dimness, past the hamlet,
Where the Boer hills spread.

England's sons, their love for honour
Set this lonesome sign,
Where the mist breaks in the morning,
And the white stars shine.

Oh! the windy dirge that echoes
Round this lone white cross.
Oh! the weirdness of the mountain,
And the grass-grown fosse!

Oh! the bitterness accruing
To our women's hearts!
" King and Country " still remember
Graves in foreign parts.

Far beyond the cross of weeping
And the burning heart.
God of battles! " Jesu mercy "
God of Life thou art.