FOR THE FALLEN
by Robert Laurence Binyon
With proud thanksgiving, a
mother for her children,
Britain 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 of home;
They have no lot in our labour
of the day-time;
They sleep beyond Britain'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.
And a recently discovered newspaper photo of my great Grandfather Fred Campbell of 36th Ulster Division wounded on first day of Somme (along with his brother) but who thankfully survived the war when so many of their comrades sadly did not.
