War drums shall never summon him, nor cold And foreign earth receive his cloak of clay; Here, in his home land, cradled safe away. It rests. Nor shall he hunger, nor grow old; Let his bright youth your grief-bowed soul enfold. Yours, yours, he was, and is; another day, A short space, as time measures mundane stay, His lips on yours in fond embrace shall hold. So for your courage high, to stifle tears, His eyes must smile -- nor does he bide afar -- Celestial touch may reach across the bar, To heal the sorrow in the passing years. This for your solace, mother, sweetly brave, Such love can not be covered in a grave. |