Works

It fell in the year of Mutiny,
At darkest of the night,
John Nicholson by Jal'ndhar came,
On his way to Delhi fight.

And as he by Jal'ndhar came,
He thought what he must do,...

His beauty bore no token,
No sign our gladness shook;
With tender strength unbroken
The hand of Life he took:
But the summer flowers were falling,
Falling and fading away,...

Pilgrim, no shrine is here, no prison, no inn:
Thy fear and thy belief alike are fond:
Death is a gate, and holds no room within:
Pass--to the road beyond.