Roxborough Man

Now the chattering guns have ceased Now the battlefields are bared Now we walk where history teased The convictions of those who stared I climb the hill to see again The land that yields its children who toil For fruit where no father remain; I climb to see ploughs ripping the soil Of ignorance, snobbery, and superiority False, where the boy swings the axe And find stray cattle enjoying fake liberty: The man who makes the law must use the tax. Now the riffling pages turn no more Nor siblings buried far from home Now the fisherman pulls his boat to shore And the athlete rests beneath the loam I hear the silence of the courts and wonder What genius does justice lack in defense Who speaks when the voiceless in blunder Is stripped of dignity and common sense? Where is the advocate from Roxborough Where the hero in the mudded trench So much congenial goodness in that fellow We are the bolts but he was our wrench. The man from Roxborough was our prince Our knight in shining armour of truth He was the reason the world was convinced Men have souls who crouched like brutes. The man of Roxborough was a different kind A class that did not stand for class A scholar with a peasant's candor and mind A vision clear as taintless liquid in a glass. Roxborough man, father of the federal design, Roxborough man, we are fifty and remember How yielding to kindness, you made us shine Such a big bush of fire from a small ember.