The Great War

from Great Poems of the World War, an electronic edition

Our Soldier Dead

"IN Flanders fields, where poppies blow,"

In France where beauteous roses grow,

There let them rest--forever sleep,

While we eternal vigil keep

With our heart's love--with our soul's pray'r,

For all our Fallen "Over There."

The sounding sea between us rolls

And in perpetual requiem tolls-- Three thousand miles of cheerless space

Lie 'twixt us and their resting place;

'Twas God who took them by the hand

And left them in the stranger land.

The earth is sacred where they fell--

Forever on it lies the spell

Of hero deeds in Freedom's cause,

And men unborn shall come and pause

To say a prayer, or bow the head,

So leave these graves to hold their dead.

Let not our sighing nor our tears

Fall on them through the coming years

Who on the land, on sea, in air,

With dauntless courage everywhere,

Their homes and country glorified--

Stood to their arms and smiling died.

Great France will leave no need nor room

That we place flowers on their tomb--

And proudly o'er their resting place,

Will float forever in its grace,

O'er cross, and star, and symbol tag,

Their own beloved country's flag.

The morning sun will gild with light,

The stars keep holy watch at night,

The winter spread soft pall of snow,

The summer flowers about them grow,

The sweet birds sing their springtime call

God's love and mercy guard them all.