The Schoolfellow

Our game was his but yesteryear;

We wished him back; we could not know The self-same hour we missed him here He led the line that broke the foe.

Blood-red behind our guarded posts Sank as of old and dying day;

The battle ceased; the mingled hosts Weary and cheery went their way: "To-morrow well may bring," we said, "As fair a fight, as clear a sun." Dear Lad, before the world was sped,

For evermore thy goal was won.