If I should never see the moon again Rising red gold across the harvest field Or feel the stinging soft rain As the brown earth her treasures yield. If I should never taste the salt sea spray As the ship beats her course across the breeze. Or smell the dog-rose and new-mown hay, or moss or primroses beneath the tree. If I should never hear the thrushes wake Long before the sunrise in the glimmering dawn. Or watch the huge Atlantic rollers break Against the rugged cliffs in baffling scorn. If I have to say good bye to stream and wood, To wide ocean and the green clad hill, I know that he, who made this world so good Has somewhere made a heaven better still. This bears witness with my latest breath Knowing the love of God, I fear no death. Major Malcolm Boyd