And how he used to thrill the crowd

The ready eye with bat and ball

The village fighter, heavy browed

The englishman who had it all

A mighty shoulder to the wheel

To join in battle with the best

The iron arm, the will of steel

And heart of oak to mourn the rest.

A power harnessed to the game

Once yoked and tempered fades away

The willing arm, the steady aim

The youth and fire that won the day

As twilight shadows dim the field

The ageing fighter stands bereft

With just the will to never yield

And heart of oak to mourn what's left.