  OPEN the workhouse doors to-day To the men who fought in that fearful fray; Weary and worn and scant of breath Are the men who rode through the valley of Death; But, clad in the pauper’s garb of shame, They are getting the meed of their deathless fame. These are the heroes our poet sang When over the world their story rang; These are the heroes, gnarled and bent, With the tale of whose deeds the skies were rent; These are the soldiers whose fame’s writ large On the glorious page of that deathless charge. Open the workhouse doors to-day To the penniless heroes old and gray; In each wrinkled face is a soldier’s pride, They have won the guerdon so long denied, And we honour their deed with—what do you think?— A benefit at a skating rink! |
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