Ode of Remembrance

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh 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 her tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch 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 tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known,
As the stars are known to the night.

As the stars will be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

The poem or ballad, also known as “For the Fallen” was written in Cornwall in 1914, just a short time after the start of the Great War. Already, British forces had bled fearfully, being told that their service and sacrifice were essential for protecting the freedom, the liberty, of millions in western Europe, including their own countrymen. They accepted what was generally a lie, as just three short years later, Americans would do the same.

At least, as we measure time, three short years. For those in the trenches, in the support zones behind the trenches, in the air, and for even civilians back home, those were very long years indeed.

But we would not learn for many years just what great lies were told, and what bloodshed, terror, and destruction would result from those lies. Indeed, the world of 111 years later (today) continues to pay the many costs of what was said and done in the capitals of Europe in 1914.

The same things were repeated with the same results from 1939 to 1945, and virtually continuously since then. The ripples of blood, of treasure wasted, of tyranny enhanced and liberty restricted, continue to slosh back and forth across the planet.

The pattern, the horror, continues today: the means of drawing the blood and wreaking havoc and destruction have changed. But the loss continues: from the fields and towns of Russia and Ukraine, to the battered plain of the Gaza Strip and the rugged and shattered terrain of Mount Hermon and the valleys around it. To the wrecked meetinghouses of Nigeria, the bloody streets of Chicago, and the terror-ridden fields and hills of Mesopotamia and Turkey.

While there are many roots and facets of the solution to these things, we do not question the prediction that wars, like the poor and disease, will continue to be with us. But a planet in which more and more people live and love, learn and earn, in peace and prosperity that is possible in lands of liberty will surely see less violence, including less war.

Some of the teaching that we here at TPOL do is based on the motto of “Scaring us not to death, but to life.” Remembering the dead veterans of wars, honoring those who served (despite their believing the lies that caused them to do so), and respecting their courage and sacrifice can be yet another way of reminding us that we can and must do all we can to at least reduce and mitigate the scourge of war.

(A good reading of the poem can be seen here.)