WHEN it is finished, Father, and we set The war-stained buckler and the bright blade by, Bid us remember then what bloody sweat, What thorns, what agony, Purchased our wreaths of harvest and ripe ears; Whose empty hands, whose empty hearts, whose tears In this Gethsemane Ransomed the days to be. We leave them to Thee, Saviour. We've no price, No utmost treasure of the seas or lands, No words, no deeds, to pay their sacrifice. Only while England stands, Their pearl, their pride, their altar,—not their grave,— Bid us remember in what hours they gave All that mankind may give That we might live. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOOD FRIDAY HYMN by GEORGE SANTAYANA SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DEAD, AND BURIED by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER THE BAY FIGHT by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL IN HOSPITAL: 10. STAFF NURSE: NEW STYLE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY BEDOUIN [LOVE] SONG by BAYARD TAYLOR |