The call came in the stormy night,
Beneath a stranger's sky.
The soldier of a life-long fight,
Still fighting, went to die.
His country's honour was his goal;
Patient, unswerving, brave,
His mind, his heart, his work, his soul
His very all, he gave.
He toiled to rouse us from our sleep,
And now he takes his rest,
And we it is not ours to weep,
But follow his behest.
'Tis ours to make this matter plain
That though our 'Bobs' has gone,
Though dust returns to dust again
His soul goes marching on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem