Over the Bridge XVI-XX



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

XVI

THIS lad was young, ’tis said he was
A scorner of religious truths,
A rebel with the strangest cause,
He would not be as other youths.

This lad had looks, ’tis said he had
The gift of Nature’s fairest charms,
But now ’tis said he died quite glad
To bear the cross within his arms.

The lad is dead, ’tis said he is
A martyr for the Son of Man,
And now the world remembers this:
Death was his gift to Man.

The lad was understood by none,
Yet held his disregard,
Enemies, he had but one
And yet he loved the world!

XVII

ONE man told the strangest tale,
Of love, and honour then,
The city with its cake and ale,
Of characters, and men.

How pride is but a loathsome thing,
The bold are ruled by fear,
How deeds of courage only spring
From manhood, strength, and beer.

And as he spoke we thought again,
Of love, and honour then,
For we had little else to gain
Above the hopes of men.

XVIII

CONTEMPT is something felt by few,
Hatred, felt by many,
But when I lost a friend like you
I did not feel for any.

Any that had done you harm,
Or them that did you good;
Life for me had lost its charm
The hopes for which we stood.

Yet one thing bears within my mind
And causes me much greater pain;
Fate to me was not so kind,
For I live on in vain.

‘Tis odd, and yet ’tis not a crime,
To God, all love, honour, glory due
To love the man who in his time
Has made a man of you.

The brave man has a lot to lose
When first lie offers up his life,
And many men would rather choose
Ere they give up the joys, or strife.

I saw the chap that winked his eye
At some half-frightened country lad,
Who lost his arms and feared to die:
He found the courage that he had.

But what a benediction breathes
Within the breast it won,
The coward dies a thousand deaths,
A brave man dies but one!

XX

WHEN we were back in Blighty
We walked out two-by-two,
And thought that we were mighty
Among the likes of you.

But now we’ve learnt a different code,
A different pattern of our own:
Life is but an empty road;
We walk it, all alone.

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