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PERCIVAL GIBBON.
They bring the best of heart and hand,
Of blood, and breed, and birth;
Their graves upon our frontiers lie,
To testify their worth.
They hasten to their heritage,
The feeble and the fain;
They bring the best of youth and hope,
To garner age and pain,
To glean the dole of little thanks,
To suffer and be dumb;
To die when duty names the man—
And still their cohorts come.
Perceval Gibbon.
