Bobs
The call came in the stormy night,
Beneath a stranger’s sky.
The soldier of a life-long fight,
Still fighting, went to die.
His country’s honour was his goal;
Patient, unswerving, brave,
His mind, his heart, his work, his soul—
His very all, he gave.
He toiled to rouse us from our sleep,
And now he takes his rest,
And we—it is not ours to weep,
But follow his behest.
’Tis ours to make this matter plain—
That though our “Bobs” has gone,
Though dust returns to dust again—
His soul goes marching on.
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