There is a spot on the side of Croydon Mountain {New Hampshire}, near the edge of the steep crag, where Baynes was accustomed to sit, alone, or with chosen friends. There, in the pure mountain air, far away from the cares and duties of his busy life, he could seek peace. It was his favorite resting-place. On a clear day, therefore, late in May, when Nature was decked once more in the delicate greens of spring-time, his ashes were taken to this beautiful spot, and scattered over the tree-tops. And there, sunk level with the surface of the rock, high about the rivers and valleys of new England, was placed a bronze tablet, with the simple inscription:
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
There is a spot on the side of Croydon Mountain {New Hampshire}, near the edge of the steep crag, where Baynes was accustomed to sit, alone, or with chosen friends. There, in the pure mountain air, far away from the cares and duties of his busy life, he could seek peace. It was his favorite resting-place. On a clear day, therefore, late in May, when Nature was decked once more in the delicate greens of spring-time, his ashes were taken to this beautiful spot, and scattered over the tree-tops. And there, sunk level with the surface of the rock, high about the rivers and valleys of new England, was placed a bronze tablet, with the simple inscription:
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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