In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

~

Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead;
The quarrel which ye so nobly led we’ve taken up,
And we will keep true faith with you who lie asleep,
Each with a cross to mark his bed and poppies bowing overhead,
Where once your life’s blood ran red.
So let your sleep be sweet and deep in Flanders Fields.

Fear not that you have died for naught;
The torch ye threw to us we caught;
Ten million hands will hold it high and freedom’s light shall never die;
We’ve learned the lesson ye have taught on Flanders Fields.

R. W. Lillard

~

Thank you to all who old the torch high in countless ways.