 |
Tis only a simple story,
I’m going to tell you,
But is has charm about it,
That at least the tale is true.
There are heroes through all ages,
who have won the laureled crown,
Some are great and mighty,
But others of less renown.
I tell of an humble hero,
unknown perhaps by fame,
Though his page is surely written
On the scroll of Heavenly fame.
Two bright-eyed merry laddies,
with hearts both free and gay,
Romped through the peaceful village,
On a gladsome summers day.
|
 |
The old church tower stood open;
They paused beside the door,
For the spirit of boyhood urged them
to enter and explore.
In through the gray archway
And up round the winding stair,
till they reached the ancient belfry,
And paused for a moment there.
But they longed to climb up higher
They were not content to stop,
Till they reached the utmost story
and stood on the very top.
Clinging to beam and rafter
(For the steps had ended here,)
Slowly but surely advancing,
with never a sign of fear.
|
 |
Their hopes were almost realized;
They’d almost gained the height;
And they rested a moment together
While their eyes shone with delight.
But the beam on which they were seated
was rotten, and worn, and old;
And the burden laid upon it
was more than its strength could hold.
And as they laughed together,
Nor thought of any harm,
with a crash the timbers parted
and fell with a loud alarm.
There was sufficient warning
for the elder one to grasp
the nearest beam above him,
and retain it in his grasp.
|
 |
But the younger one in falling,
with a clutch of wild despair
Seized his comrade’s legs and held them,
As he hung above him there.
And so in that dim old belfry,
Helpless they hung on high,
With never a hope of rescue,
for none could hear their cry.
There passed a fearful moment;
It seemed like an hour in length;
And the arms of the lads were aching,
as they slowly lost their strength.
Then the boy who held the rafter
looked down at the one beneath;
“I can’t hold on much longer.”
He muttered between his teeth.
|
 |
The other thought a moment,
Then spoke in accents low;
“Do you think you could climb up safely,
Old Fellow if I leave go?”
“I think I could.” he answered;
“God bless you then and good by”
Said the other, his grasp relaxing,
and he fell below to die.
His comrade climbed up safely
to the solid beam above;
He owed his life and safety,
to the others unselfish love.
That night in the quiet village
Where the morn had dawned in joy,
There was many an eye that moistened
For the death of that gallant boy.
|
 |
Only an humble hero!
Only a bright-eyed lad!
But as brave a scion of valor
As old England ever had.
He fought no might battle,
He won no famous fight,
Bu he gave his life unflinching,
For the noble and the right.
And he ranks with the first of many
whose names are are lost in years;
Who have gained no earthly tribute;
Who have drawn no nations tears.
But though their memory perish,
Our Father who knoweth all,
Rewardeth every hero,
The mighty and the small.
|