Here the foe rushed for our gatling,
But were met by a scorching flame
From the Police and artillery,
And driven confused back again.
Shortt gallantly led the brave onset,
And the foe were punished sore,
And the deafening guns raged madly,
In one incessant roar.
The right rear was now menaced,
But there came a defiant cheer
From the ready Battleford corps
As the savage foe drew near.
And the gallant Nash with his corps
Cleared the ground that was threatened so;
The Queen’s Own and the Guards assisted,
And delivered a telling blow.
The left rear, too, was threatened,
But instantly now to the fore
Went the fearless Queen’s Own Rifles
And Nash with his gallant corps.
Hot and furious was their fire,
Holding there the red fiends at bay,
And their coolness and their valor
Added lustre to the day.
Meanwhile, Ross, the intrepid scout,
With his resourceful, daring band,
Stole around the dark foeman’s flank,
Making untenable their stand.
Thus at eleven o’clock of the day,
After six hours of strife,
Our flanks and our rear were clear of the foe,
Though severe was the loss of life.
But the object of the reconnaissance
Was admirably attained,
And Canadian and British valor
Was at Cut Knife Hill sustained.
The wounded and dying were cared for,
And the gallant dead borne away
To the slow, sad tread of comrades,
At the close of the dying day.
Honor Otter, Herchmer, and Shortt,
Wattom and the gallant Pelletier,
Nash and McKell, Sears and Mutton,
And Rutherford hail with a cheer.
They fought for this grand land of ours,
For our union from sea to sea;
Placing their lives in the balance,
They won, and Canada is free.
And shall not a grateful country
Honor the living and dead?
We, so blest in our true freedom,
Remember the blood that was shed.
As long as the years roll by us
May the Old Flag over us wave,
And conspirators and traitors
Find a ready dishonored grave.
THE SILENT VOICE.
O songless, lost, and silent voice,
Steal back from pale oblivion’s shore,
And breathe the songs so loved of old,
That echo down the years no more.
O voice, lost voice, that pined and died—
A solace with the changing years—
I miss thee so, my more than friend,
That soothed to rest life’s cares and fears.