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.
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.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
By John McCrae
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.
By John McCrae
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.
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
...
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
-- Kipling
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
...
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
-- Kipling