"He died, as soldiers die, amid the strife, Mindful of England in his latest prayer..."

TO THE MEMORY OF FIELD-MARSHAL EARL ROBERTS

OF KANDAHAR AND PRETORIA

by Owen Seaman

 He died, as soldiers die, amid the strife, 
 Mindful of England in his latest prayer;
God, of His love, would have so fair a life
 Crowned with a death as fair.

He might not lead the battle as of old,
 But, as of old, among his own he went,
Breathing a faith that never once grew cold,
   A courage still unspent.

So was his end; and, in that hour, across
 The face of War a wind of silence blew,
And bitterest foes paid tribute to the loss
   Of a great heart and true.

But we who loved him, what have we to lay
 For sign of worship on his warrior-bier?
What homage, could his lips but speak to-day,
   Would he have held most dear?

Not grief, as for a life untimely reft;
 Not vain regret for counsel given in vain;
Not pride of that high record he had left,
   Peerless and pure of stain;

But service of our lives to keep her free,
 The land he served; a pledge above his grave
To give her even such a gift as he,
   The soul of loyalty, gave.

That oath we plight, as now the trumpets swell
 His requiem, and the men-at-arms stand mute,
And through the mist the guns he loved so well
   Thunder a last salute!

I must admit that when I read this beautiful poem, the part that struck me the most was this: 

 
But we who loved him, what have we to lay
 For sign of worship on his warrior-bier?
What homage, could his lips but speak to-day,
   Would he have held most dear?

Not grief, as for a life untimely reft;
 Not vain regret for counsel given in vain;
Not pride of that high record he had left,
   Peerless and pure of stain;

But service of our lives to keep her free,
 The land he served; a pledge above his grave
To give her even such a gift as he,
   The soul of loyalty, gave.