The Younger Son Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

The Younger Son he's earned his bread in ways both hard and easy
From Parramatta to the Pole, from Yukon to Zambesi;
For young blood is roving blood, and a far road's best,
And when you're tired of roving there'll be time enough to rest!

And it's 'Hello' and 'How d'ye do?' 'How's the world been using you?
Thought you were in Turkestan or China or Peru!' -
It's a long trail in peace-time where the roving Britons stray . . .
But in war-time, in war-time, it's just across the way!

He's left the broncos to be bust by who in thunder chooses;
He's left the pots to wash themselves in Canada's cabooses;
He's left the mine and logging camp, the peavie, pick and plough,
For young blood is fighting blood, and England needs him now!

And it's 'Hello' and 'How d'ye do?' 'Who'd ha' thought of meeting you!
What's the news of Calgary, Quebec and Cariboo?'
It's a long trail in peace-time where the roving Britons stray,
But in war-time, in war-time, it's just across the way!

He's traveled far by many a trail, he's rambled here and yonder,
No road too rough for him to tread, no land too wide to wander;
For young blood is roving blood, and the spring of life is best,
And when all the fighting's done, lad, there's time enough to rest.

And it's good-bye, tried and true, here's a long farewell to you
(Rolling stone from Mexico, Shanghai or Timbuctoo)!
Young blood is roving blood, but the last sleep is the best,
When the fighting all is done, lad, and it's time to take a rest!