'Neath foreign soil the soldier heroes lie
In lonely graves. No record raised above
To tell their names or deeds; to dignify
War's resting-place, save where with hands of love
Some comrade placed a cross to testify
His dead friends' worth; how manfully they strove.
Glory is theirs; the People's narrative
Of fame will tell their deeds of gallantry,
And for all time their memories will live
Shrined in our hearts. Now by our King's decree
As lasting honour, lo! their comrades give
The cross "FOR VALOUR" to the chosen Three.
The Attack
THE cold grey light of dawn yet hardly shows
The piles of tattered sandbags which surround
Our narrow trench, where we beneath the ground
Wait with the longing every soldier knows
To reap the harvest which the gunner sows
Amongst the Huns. Ah! sweet the whistling sound
Of shells o'erhead; next silence most profound;
70
