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.