I can mind him at the start -
Easy seat and merry heart!
Said he, as he threw a glance
At the crawling ambulance:
'Some day I'll be on the ground
And the van will hurry round!
Doc. will gravely wag his head:
'No use now! the poor chap's dead!'
'Every man must, soon or late,
Turn up at the Golden Gate:
When we weigh in - you and I -
How can horsemen better die!'
On that sunlit steeple course
He lay prone beneath his horse,
Never more his pal may ride
By that gallant hlorseman's side.
'Reckless fool?' What matter, mate?
All his time he'd ridden straight -
Went (smashed 'gainst that wall of sod!)
Spurred and booted to his God.
Carve in stone above his head
Words that some old Christian said:
'Grace he sought, and grace he found,
'Twixt the saddle and the ground!'