[From Manx Quarterly #20 1919]
MY mind is borne upon the wings of time
Into the past; and the the light is dim
I see the happy, fair young face
And large expressive eyes, of him
Who came of noble parentage; in whom no trace
Could e'er be found of evil's filth and grime.
And then I see him as the years steal quickly by,
Bearing the lithe and supple form of youth:
The type that Britain loves to own.
Her bulwarks, firm for right and truth,
Willing to stand for them alone,
Or if the need should be, for them to die.
And last of all I see him as he wore
The crown of manhood on his fair young brow;
No idle slacker in the world's great fight,
Willing to let his very life-blood View
For all that Stood for God, and home, and right,
And caring not what heavy cross he bore.
And now that earth has claimed his mortal frame
(The heritage that is her only due),
And Britain mourns a valiant soldier slain,
And loving hearts are torn, and bleeding too-
We feel his life has not been lived in vain,
We glory in his life, his work, his name.
BEATRICE A. EYRE. Preston Brook, nr. Warrington.
[B.E. Eyre was daughter of a Primitive Methodist Minister stationed in Laxey 1897-1900;
Sapper James Lockart Kinrade died in 1918 ]