DOWN the street, with a lilting swing,
Each so bright that never a thing
Seemed to harass, so proud were they;
One leg gone, but their hearts were gay.
Clickety clack, went the crutches’ tune.
God! How can they be brave so soon!
Brave, when I can not keep back the tears,
Thinking ahead of the crippled years.
With a rhythmic swing they passed me by,
And although, at first, I wanted to cry,
I didn’t, because on each smiling face
Was the peace of God and the pride of race.
And the splendid pair, each with one leg gone,
Swung out of sight to the crutches’ song.
And I thought I would give all my future joys
To feel just like those Canadian boys.
All night long, like an ancient rune,
Rang through my dreams the crutches’ tune.
I shall never forget, though I’m old and gray,
The song that the crutches sang that day.
THE ANXIOUS DEAD
LIEUT. COL. JOHN McCRAE
in The London Spectator
O GUNS, fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions pressing on!
(These fought their fight in time of bitter fear
And died not knowing how the day had gone.)
O flashing muzzles, pause and let them see
The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar!
Then let your mighty chorus witness be
To them, and Cæsar, that we still make war.