The Red Horizon

I wish the sea were not so wide That parts me from my love; I wish the things men do below Were known to God above. I wish that I were back again In the glens of Donegal; They'll call me coward if I return, But a hero if I fall. "Is it better to be a living coward, Or thrice a hero dead?" "It's better to go to sleep, my lad," The Colour Sergeant said. Night, a grey troubled sky without moon or stars. The shadows lay on the surface of the sea, and the waves moaned beneath the keel of the troopship that was bearing us away on the most momentous journey of our lives. The hour was about ten. Southampton lay astern; by dawn we should be in France, and a day nearer the war for which we had trained so long in the cathedral city of St. Albans.