The Schoolfellow

　　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.