In Flanders Fields
By John McCrae
In 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.
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2 Responses
The horror of war. A friend of mine, who rode the bus with me to school, was killed in Vietnam in 1969. He was 19. He did not get to be a husband, father and grandfather like I did. Basically he was cheated out of having a life. For a mistake. Our government screwed up royally with Vietnam and Iraq. Unnecessary and stupid wars fought for what? These malicious mistakes cannot be forgiven.
The images of priests celebrating Mass for soldiers about to head to the trenches, knowing full well that there were identical liturgies – in all but language – happening at the same time on the other side of the line, tell us all we need to know about how “Christian” we really are in the West.