��FOR THE FALLEN
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Hesh 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 stanch 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 tal)les of home ; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time ; They sleep beyond England's foam.
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