Classic Poem

WHO DIED IN HARNESS

Here, where he fell, our noble friend shall lie.
Where the last course of willing life was run;
Life's work was ended and its duty done;
So men should bury soldiers, where they die! —
Born from the blood of battle, with the name
Which battle honored and which heroes gave,
He leaves no memory of sloth or shame
To be recounted by this sylvan grave.
True to his master, to his service true,
The work he had to do was finished well.
So let these rustling Rhododendrons tell
" F ITZ did the work that he was set to do. "
Service is Royal when so truly tried,
He lived obedient and obedient died.