For the fallen

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion -

WITH proud thanks­giv­ing, a mother for her chil­dren, Eng­land mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill: Death au­gust and royal Sings sor­row up into im­mor­tal spheres. There is mu­sic in the midst of des­o­la­tion And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the bat­tle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds un­counted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years con­demn. At the go­ing down of the sun and in the morn­ing We will re­mem­ber them. They min­gle not with their laugh­ing com­rades again; They sit no more at fa­mil­iar ta­bles at home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep be­yond Eng­land’s foam. But where our de­sires are and our hopes pro­found, Felt as a well-spring that is hid­den from sight, To the in­ner­most heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Mov­ing in marches upon the heav­enly plain, As the stars that are starry in the time of our dark­ness, To the end, to the end, they re­main. Lau­rence Binyon (1869–1943) Source:

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Australia

© PressReader. All rights reserved.