What will you think of me when I have gone
To windswept shore or yet proud rising land,
Off to those dreams I fed my soul upon,
My rod or rifle steady in my hand;
Beyond the sad corruption of the day
And darkened dreams that haunt the sullied night,
To timeless hope where way leads to blessed way,
Pastoral scenes to ever grace my sight.
Will you remember then all battles fought,
Great wars fair won, and those lost in despair,
Where win or lose, true victory was sought—
My glory or defeat in measured share;
And when they play for me the final fife,
Recall from every score—I bled pure life.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.