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We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
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In Flanders FieldsIn Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The
larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset
glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands
we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies
grow
In Flanders fields.
- John McCrae |
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We must remember. If we do not, the sacrifice
of those one hundred thousand Canadian lives will be meaningless. They died for us, for their homes and families and friends,
for a collection of traditions they cherished and a future they believed in; they died for Canada. The meaning of their sacrifice
rests with our collective national consciousness; our future is their monument. |
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In Flanders FieldsIn Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The
larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset
glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands
we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies
grow
In Flanders fields.
- John McCrae |
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