Beside the village of Newmills
A widow there does dwell
Bereft of husband in her prime
With children very small

Deprived of their father's care
When in their early youth
Their mother sought to train them up,
In knowledge of the Truth.

Their way into the little church
On Sabbath they did wend
To fit them for the lot in life
Which providence would send

The minister in the holy things
Sought by their spirits might
To teach the young to fear the Lord
And strive to do the right.

Honour to give when due; with full
Allegiance to their King
So from the little village church
A V.C. hero springs.

Tyrone has given of her sons
Men valiant true and brave.
Amongst them comes the orphan lad
To death was strong to save.

He saw his helpless comrades lie
While shells lay thick around
He forward rushed, no thought of self
To bring them to safe ground.

Within the red stained fields of France
Where blood like rivers flow
He sacrificed his life, his all,
Received his deadly blow.

He fills a gallant soldier's grave
And nobly he did win
The Honours that the King and Czar
Has now conferred on him

His mother too may well feel proud,
Though sorrow crowns her lot.
But time will surely soothe her grief,
And heal her wounded heart.

His V.C. honours still remain
Her always to remind
That life laid down for others good
A higher life shall find