The collie climbing Cheviot to head his hill sheep stringing,
The Dandie digging to his fox among the Lakeside scars,
The Clumber in the marshes when the evening flight is winging
And the wild geese coming over through the rose light and the stars.
And my heart goes out in pity to each faithful one that's fretting
Day by day in cot or castle with his dim eyes on the door.
In his dreams he hunts with sorrow. And for us there's no forgetting
That he helped our love of England and he hardened us for war.
W.H.O.