with proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourn for her dead the across the sea . flesh of her flesh they were, spirits 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 thee midst of desolation and a glory that shines upon our tears. they went with songs to the battle , they were young, straight of limb, true of eye, steady and glory aglow. they were stanch to the end against odds uncountered, they fell with their faces to the foe. they shall grow not old, as we that left grow old: age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.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 of home; 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 inner most heart of their desires own land they are known as the stars are known to the earth; as the stars that shall 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, they remain. <span id="test22983897">. . .</span><br/><div id="post22983897" style="display:none; margin-right:75px;"></div>
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