Over the Bridge by W.S.Vernon, verses I-V, VI-X, XI-XV, XVI-XX, XXI-XXV, XXV-XXX

XXVI

WHEN I am dead, and lift my gaze
From off the mantle of the Earth,
I think that I may find new ways,
And so, perhaps, my second birth.

So much has passed within my mind,
Betwixt my blindness and my death,
I oft forget that I am blind
And search the mirror for my breath.

How cold now feels the mist
That from my lips did slow!
How cold the breath of those I’ve missed,
Of those I used to know!

XXVII

SOME men say there is a God,
While others think the worst of you;
Is, or is there not a God?
Ah, ’tis true, lads, ’tis true!

I saw the godless on their knees
Praying, though it was so crude,
I saw the answer to their pleas
In tears of deepest gratitude.

And some within the ranks would say,
In murmurs that were hard, and few:
‘That man believes there is a God; away
With hint; away with you!’

To dream is but to live awhile
In visions that are quickly gone,
But those who share their faith beguile
A world that cannot dream as one.

XXVIII

THE bugle’s cry is faintly heard
Above the graveyard knell,
But not a single soul has stirred
They hear naught but the bell.

Easy lies the head of him
Upon the bosom of his friend,
For they are still, at peace within
The grave that has no end.

Two-by-two and four-by-four
They lie with berets that are red,
Proud to wear the badge they wore,
With a bullet through their head.

And as the naked light of day
Looms upon the dead of eve,
The godless turn again to pray
To the God they can’t believe!

XXIX

THERE seems a moment in the course of things
When men forget their inborn woes,
And turn awhile to what life brings
But no one cares or knows.

Let each man face the thing he fears
With courage that’s not wholly blind,
There’s much to gain by him who dares
To seek no refuge in the mind.

‘Tis often said at times of stress
That fear is master in our stead,
‘Twas so for us, no more nor less
Than that which other soldiers bled.

XXX

THERE is an old belief
That on some distant shore
Far from despair and grief
Old friends shall meet once more.
And when that day achieves its ends
And love no shallow proves
I’ll find my late departed friends
And lie who honour loves.

Over the bridge of seven ways,
Where seven rivers flow,
There lies a field of many days
That men have ceased to know,
Where little crosses mark the graves,
While Time moves to-and-fro.

Over the Bridge by W.S.Vernon, verses I-V, VI-X, XI-XV, XVI-XX, XXI-XXV, XXV-XXX