Crippled, he stands beside the gate
In the long moorland wall,
Kept out of all the fun by fate
Yet loving it withal;
And when the hounds with nearing cry
Bid vain regret be gone,
He holds his crutch against the sky
To show their fox is on.
For us he suffered in the fight.
For us he walks in pain,
A rider in the foremost flight
Who will not ride again;
And we who know him best may read
In those brave glistening eyes
The breadth of courage in our breed,
The depth of sacrifice.
