The Schoolfellow

Our game was his but yesteryear；
    We wished him back； we could not know
    The self-same hour we missed him here
    He led the line that broke the foe.
    Blood-red behind our guarded posts
    Sank as of old and dying day；
    The battle ceased； the mingled hosts
    Weary and cheery went their way：
    "To-morrow well may bring，" we said，
    "As fair a fight， as clear a sun."
    Dear Lad， before the world was sped，
    For evermore thy goal was won.