The colours of the setting sun Withdrew across the Western land -- He raised the sliprails, one by one, And shot them home with trembling hand; Her brown hands clung -- her face grew pale -- Ah! quivering chin and eyes that brim! -- One quick, fierce kiss across the rail, And, "Good-bye, Mary!" "Good-bye, Jim!"
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Oh, he rides hard to race the pain Who rides from love, who rides from home; But he rides slowly home again, Whose heart has learnt to love and roam.
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The Sliprails and the Spur
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