With each a cross to mark his bed,
And poppies blowing overhead,
Where once his own [lifeblood] ran red.
So let your rest be sweet and deep
In Flanders fields.
Fear not that ye have died for naught.
The torch ye threw to us we caught.
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And [Freedom’s light] shall never die!
We’ve [learned the lesson] that ye taught