The wires lead back from the grey old town By brier and bracken up the hillslopes brown; Singing back thro' the pines to the creek that calls; Crooning soft thro' the woodland where the dead leaves fall; Humming low thro' the clearing where the sap creeps numb, Past the woodcamps dead and the shanty dumb; Singing back up the slopes with their fallen dead, To the wayside cross leading on ahead, Of the simple courage that does not die, That has kept the faith, and the orders lie. |