No medal and no cross they wear
No ribbon gleaming on the breast
The burden that they bravely bear
Only their daily tasks attest.
Were Time to deal the just award
Apportioned in God's wondrous scheme,
The Order of the Golden Sword
Would blaze upon the Timber Team.
The axes called them to the woods,
The humming round-saws sang them through ;
All down the scented solitudes
Their chains made music as they drew.
With hearts that knew not how to flinch
However sorely over-tried,
Across the torn moss inch by inch
They hauled the butts along the ride.
And out upon the highway, churned
And rutted by the ceaseless tyre,
Each day their matchless courage burned
With new and never-ending fire.
For four long years we've watched them swing
Through mire and dust, through sleet and snow,
And not a soldier for his king
Has struck a nobler battle-blow.
Beneath the chains their ribs were red.
Their shoulders 'neath the collars scarred.
And yet with proud uplifted head
Each night they reached the railway yard ;
Each grey of dawning sped them back
Along the weary winding road,
With idle traces dangling slack,
To lift another victory load.
Their gallant comrades overseas
Have hauled the transport and the guns.
Yet scarcely known such stress as these
The patient unremembered ones.
If there are fields beyond the grave
Where harried horses rest and dream.
Wide be the gateway for the Brave
Whose toil was in the Timber Team.
