My Lost Chum

Sad news I have received today,

News of a friend now far away,

A comrade of my youthful days,

Round whom affection fondly plays.

Alas! His form lies in the grave

That’s fashioned only for the brave.

Wrapped in a Seaforth plaid does lie

At rest, beneath our Ally’s sky.

So long as I the power command

To dwell in memory’s pleasant land,

I’ll fondly think of him, my friend,

Who never once did me offend,

Or give me pain, remorse, regret

That he and I had never met.

Ye tender blooms of sunny France,

Whose sons have nobly bled,

Deep strike your roots in sacred soil,

And pillow well his head.

Ye winter winds that shriek and shrill,

O’er forest, crag and moss,

O! chain your wrath – pay your respects –

And humbly pass his cross.

Now he has gone from human ken,

Unto the great unknown,

To join a great and glorious band,

With whom our land was sown.

Who, when they ripened into men

And called by Right to war,

Went bravely forth to combat might,

And bind a nation’s scar.

Whose deeds will never be forgot,

While centuries unfold,

Their names writ large on Honours Roll,

In letters of pure gold.

The setting sun will ne’er go down

O’er yon hill to his rest,

But aye will I regret the day

That he, my chum, “Went West.”

Brydon Thallon

(Publ. 23 September 1917)