David Cox McEwen Osborne
For seed and soul that quicken
By Him have death withstood
Who blessed the whole Creation
And saw that it was good.
Private Claye
(Killed 27th June, 1917)
FROM clay in strength our native oak-tree grows
To height and girth and spread of largest span;
The sweet and crimson riot of the rose;
And wheat, the bread and sacrament of man.
Clay built our homes, and towns of civil folk
Where born were manners, arts and liberty;
Clay are the pipes whence age can blow but smoke,
And children orbs of bliss and vanity.
This is fine clay: our common clay is finer
Which England mine hath modelled not in strife
To strive for England, and the Great Designer
Into the nostrils breathed the breath of life.
Claye, I salute what everlasting fame
Informs thine ancient and illustrious name.
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