The Great War

from Great Poems of the World War, an electronic edition

Three Trees

THERE is a hill in England

Green fields and a school I konw,

Where the balls fly fast in summer,

And the whispering elm-trees grow,

A little hill, a dear hill,

And the playing fields below.

There is a hill in Flanders,

Heaped with a thousand slain,

Where the shells fly night and noontide

And the ghosts that died in vain--

A little hill, a hard hill,

To the souls that died in pain.

There is a hill in Jewry,

Three crosses pierce the sky,

On the midmost He is dying

To save all those who die--

A little hill, a kind hill

To souls in jeopardy.