The Schoolfellow
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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. |
