Here’s to the wit of the Shamrock,
Here’s to the favoured and free,
Giving us store of that magical lore
Learnt but at Nature’s own knee! 
The shamrock, the leek, and the thistle,
The shamrock, the leek, and the rose,
One when fame writes her epistle,
One where dread dangers enclose. 
Each for the others asks only,
Ever to succour and save,
Each without all must be lonely—­
Honour the Brave.

Here’s to the day of the Shamrock,
Here’s to the emblem of youth;
Wear it we will on our bosoms and still
Deeper in heart and in truth! 
The shamrock, the rose, and the thistle,
The shamrock, the rose, and the leek,
One where grim batteries bristle,
One when there’s pleasure to seek. 
Each on each other relying,
Trusts, nor for better would rave,
Each for all, living and dying—­
Honour the Brave.

Here’s to the reign of the shamrock,
Here’s to the welfare of all,
Bearing its light through the feast and the fight,
Ever at liberty’s call. 
The shamrock, the leek, and the thistle,
The shamrock, the leek, and the rose,
One where the death-arrows whistle,
One where hilarity flows. 
Each from the bog or the heather
Gives all a brother may crave,
Ploughland and city together—­
Honour the Brave.

THE HERO OF OMDURMAN.

MAJOR-GENERAL H.A.  MACDONALD, C.B., D.S.O. [Told in the Ranks.]

BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS.

There were lots of lies and tattle
In dispatches and on wire,
But ’twas Mac who saved the battle
When the word came to retire. 
“I’ll no do it”—­he cried, ready
For what peril lay in store,
With his ranks like steel and steady—­
“And I’ll see them hanged before! 
O, we maun jist fight!” And bolder
Slewed his front the Dervish way,
Smart with shoulder knit to shoulder,
White and black that bloody day.

Then a hell of fire, and sputtered
Iron blast and leaden hail,
While the Maxims stormed and stuttered
And our rifles did not fail. 
For the destiny of nations
With an agony intense,
And our Empire’s own foundations
Hung a minute in suspense. 
But old Mac was cool as ever,
And his words like leaping flame
Flashed in confident endeavour
To avert that evil shame.

Swung his lines on hinges, rolling
Right and left like very doom,
Till our fate nigh past controlling
Brake in glory out of gloom. 
While upon those awful stages
Throbbed a world’s great piston beat,
And the moments seemed as ages
Rung from death and red defeat. 
Ah, we lived, indeed, and no man
Recked of wound or any ill,
As we grimly faced the foeman—­
If we died, to conquer still.