When the last fence looms up, I am ready br And I hope when the rails of it crack br There'll be nothing in front but the Master, br The huntsman, the fox, and the pack; br And I hope when fate bids me go under br In this last of my manifold spills, br That we're riding the line of a hill fox br With half a mile start to his hills. br I hope that last fence is a stiff one; br I hope, for the sake of our name, br They may say, ' If the task was beyond them br They both of them went at it game! ' br And when the white girths flash above me, br And darkness comes down on the field, br Let them carry me home on a hurdle br As the Spartan went home on his shield. br And when I am out of the running br Let the good men go on with the pack; br I would not one comrade should falter, br I would not one friend should turn back; br And whether it be on the grass-land, br The hill-side, the heath or the loam, br Let the gallant ones keep going for'ard- br The slow ones can carry me home. br Let them bury me down in the churchyard, br But lay my good horse where he fell; br When the ditches are blind in the autumn br Some friend may remember and tell, br While under the thong of the west wind br The day-nettle trembles and stirs: br 'Twas from here that a horseman undaunted br Went Home in his boots and his spurs.