SWEET is the sleep of those whose lives were hurled Into the hellfire to defend the world— The men who stood like lions in the path To balk the Devil in his crimson wrath— They died, outnumbered, crushed, and trampled down— They died like tigers in each shattered town— "Where poppies bloom," they gave their best, their all, In trust that He, who sees the sparrow's fall, Would gaze, with clear and calm, approving eyes, On the great measure of their sacrifice! There, on the field, they died. The summer rains Will bring new brilliance to the scar-crossed plains, While tender women seek the graves and weep Above the brave who rest in hero-sleep. And the white crosses cancel all the past Of those who went out on the battle-blast— The good, the evil, that their lives had known Are all forgotten at the Great White Throne; The Winged Recorder, with a sweeping blot, Erases Things that Were—aye, and Were Not, And writes this sentence, with victorious pride— "Not how they lived—but only how they died!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: BEFORE AN EXAMINATION by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET PRAYER AT SUNRISE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON AUTUMN SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD BATTLE-CRIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER STANZAS FOR MUSIC (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS; OR, THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA by FRANCIS HASTINGS CHARLES DOYLE TROUBLE IN DE KITCHEN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR |