Rest here, my horse, the night is dull,—the blood-sick stars are
gone,
Listen, for thou like me wert bred in far Saskatchewan.
And this September night at home, under a happier sky,
The bursting yellow sheaves upon the unbounded prairie lie.
Bread, bread—the staff and stay of life—'tis what the wheatlands
yield;
But only death and agony are gathered from this field.
There's respite now, but ah! good friend, before another day,
Although our bodies may be here, we, we, how far away!
We've ridden many a weary mile, together we have fought
For Freedom, honor and the right, and anything we've wrought
Our Country to the Empire will still more closely bind.
Ah! where the reddened maple leaf is fluttering in the wind,
There is my heart, oh noble horse, and may we gallop free
Some day again in Canada, our Land of Liberty.
The night drags on toward the dawn, and far on yonder plain
I hear the throb of musketry, I feel its echoing pain.
I see the star-shells breaking, and nearer than their flare,
A wreath of deadly smoke points out that once a town was there.
Look, brother horse, the night is past, and glorious is the dawn,
Away with peril! We'll ride on for our Saskatchewan.
With day comes hope, and though again the sky with blood is red,
We'll ride against the enemy, for Victory lies ahead,
Aye! for the Empire—Victory that thou shalt help to bring.
And for the Allies Victory—on earth what greater thing!