Maurice Heywood refused to mire his horse for a whim.

Many a feller has mired down tryin' a new crossin'.

And many a moon of Peace shall climb Above that mimic field of Mars, Before the healing touch of Time With springing green shall hide its scars; But Inner Templars smile and say: "Our barrack-square looks well to-day!" Good was that garden in their eyes, Lovely its spell of long-ago; Now waste and mired its glory lies,