GIFTS FROM THE DEAD
Ye who in Sorrow's tents abide,
Mourning your dead with hidden tears,
Bethink you what a wealth of pride
They've won you for the coming years.
Grievous the pain; but, in the day
When all the cost is counted o'er,
Would it be best that you should say:
"We lost no loved ones in the war"?
Who knows? But proud then shall ye stand
That best, most honoured boast to make:
"My lover died for his dear land",
Or, "My son fell for England's sake".
Christlike they died that we might live;
And our redeemed lives would we bring,
With aught that gratitude may give
To serve you in your sorrowing.
And never a pathway shall ye tread,
No foot of seashore, hill, or lea,
But ye may think: "The dead, my dead,
Gave this, a sacred gift, to me".
P. Habberton Lulham
By permission of the Author