G
��Gertrude Bartlett
Mrs John W, C. Taylor of Montreal. An American by birth. Came to Canada in her teens, and married in 1891.
THE BLESSED DEAD
ATHER thy dead, O England, to thy breast!
Wide are they strewn, the countless slain, that lie
Beneath grey seas and battle-riven sky : Upon their eyes effacing earth is pressed,
Or waves are swept to foam, and curlews cry Above the soundless chambers of their rest.
Yet know, bereaved Mother, mid thy tears,
How they survive, who gave their golden years !
Thine unseen warders they, the valiant dead, Defending still thy walls against the foe : To dim frontiers, untried of wings, they go
And battles wage where never ranks are led.
The while through them unspoiled thy roses blow,
For thee unstained the hawthorne s snow is spread, Through their mute lips the soaring skylark sings Their still hands keep for thee all lovely things !
O Mother England, beautiful are they,
Beyond all ills of changing time, thy slain ! And thou, in beauty more than earth s, again
Shall pass serene upon the destined way,
Through these, thy sons, who rendered not in vain
Their fire unquenched to light the nearing Day The Blessed Dead, removed to God s command, A star-like host, to guard His chosen land !
B
�� �
