The sky is grey and the clouds are weeping;
Winter wails in the wind again;
Night with her eyes bedimmed comes creeping;
The sea is hidden in dusk and rain.
This is the gate of the path that leads us
Whither our duty the goal has set;
This is the way Old England speeds us--
Darkness, dreariness, wind and wet!
This is the gate where battle sends us,
Gaunt and broken, in pain and pride;
This is the welcome Home extends us--
Weeping rain on the cold grey tide.
Would we have balmy sunshine glowing
Over the blue from the blue above?
Rather the rain and the night wind blowing,
Rather the way of the land we love!
W. K. HOLMES.
Dec. 22, 1915.