Here Were Scattered The Ashes
-------------------Of-------------------
-----Ernest Harold Baynes------
---Lover Of Animals And Men---
--------And Loved Of Them--------
May 1, 1868-------January 21, 1925
~~"Ernest Harold Baynes: Naturalist ad Crusader" (1928) by Raymond Gorges, Pgs. 254-155 (XIV - Immortality)
The Last Race
(A poem written by Harold Baynes during his last weeks, and intended as a message to reach his friends after he passed on. Published in 'The Outlook' for February 4, 1925)
I have the mount on Courage to-day,
And Death is riding the White,
Through the paddock gate, with a smile at fate,
To the track in the slanting light.
The odds on Death are short, they say,
And how shall a sportsman choose?
There is just one test, you must ride your best,
Then you win, if you win or lose.
We face the flag on our hill-rimmed course,
It falls to a perfect start,
No waiting race-we must set the pace,
The pace that will break the heart.
On the long back stretch we lead by a length,
Old Courage asserting his pride,
While Death shows fight and call on the White-
He rides! for he has to ride.
As we swing to the straight, we are still in the van,
Mr. horse at the top of his speed,
With Death's coming fast-we are nearing the last,
And the last is already decreed.
The horses, lapped to their saddle girths,
Rush through like storm-swept fire-
Death wins! bravo! But I laugh in his face,
As he noses me out at the wire.
all info courtesy of Mike Cronk #47300132
Here Were Scattered The Ashes
-------------------Of-------------------
-----Ernest Harold Baynes------
---Lover Of Animals And Men---
--------And Loved Of Them--------
May 1, 1868-------January 21, 1925
~~"Ernest Harold Baynes: Naturalist ad Crusader" (1928) by Raymond Gorges, Pgs. 254-155 (XIV - Immortality)
The Last Race
(A poem written by Harold Baynes during his last weeks, and intended as a message to reach his friends after he passed on. Published in 'The Outlook' for February 4, 1925)
I have the mount on Courage to-day,
And Death is riding the White,
Through the paddock gate, with a smile at fate,
To the track in the slanting light.
The odds on Death are short, they say,
And how shall a sportsman choose?
There is just one test, you must ride your best,
Then you win, if you win or lose.
We face the flag on our hill-rimmed course,
It falls to a perfect start,
No waiting race-we must set the pace,
The pace that will break the heart.
On the long back stretch we lead by a length,
Old Courage asserting his pride,
While Death shows fight and call on the White-
He rides! for he has to ride.
As we swing to the straight, we are still in the van,
Mr. horse at the top of his speed,
With Death's coming fast-we are nearing the last,
And the last is already decreed.
The horses, lapped to their saddle girths,
Rush through like storm-swept fire-
Death wins! bravo! But I laugh in his face,
As he noses me out at the wire.
all info courtesy of Mike Cronk #47300132
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