A VOICE FROM OUR CONTINGENTS.
(Tune, "Just before the battle Mother.") When I read your letter mother, full of fear and grief for me, I thought it such a pity mother, you should feel so selfishly. Some of us must fall dear mother, all
can escape you know ; As likely I as any other, and why should it not be so.
Should some cruel Boer bullet, pierce me to the heart or brain, Remember I am but a unit, only one 'mongst many slain. And you'll not be the only mother mourning for a dear lost son, For in our home, the fair New Zealand, some may weep for more than one.
For many comrades foil beside us, on those cruel Boer hills. Still me must keep pressing onwards, though each heart with pity fills, For, oh! it was so hard to leave them, so many of our little baud, Lying there in pain and anguish, without a friend to take their hand.
So try and be contented mother, it is useless fretting now; There's no such thing as looking backward, once our hand is on the plough; So should death come by sword or fever, or their cruel shot or shell, We will strive to do our duty, and God helping do it well. Maori Creek, February 12th,
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/GEST19010214.2.39
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Greymouth Evening Star, Volume XXXI, 14 February 1901, Page 4
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219A VOICE FROM OUR CONTINGENTS. Greymouth Evening Star, Volume XXXI, 14 February 1901, Page 4
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