With proud thanksgiving, a mother for the 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:
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 battle,
they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye,
They were staunch to the end
against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall not grow 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 lobour
of the day time;
They sleep beyond Englands 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.
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM.