The Soldier

Home furthest off grows dearer from the way; And when the army in the Indias lay Friends' letters coming from his native place Were like old neighbours with their country face. And every opportunity that came Opened the sheet to gaze upon the name Of that loved village where he left his sheep For more contented peaceful folk to keep; And friendly faces absent many a year Would from such letters in his mind appear. And when his pockets, chafing through the case, Wore it quite out ere others took the place, Right loath to be of company bereft He kept the fragments while a bit was left.