In Silence gather we all
Not Silence only, nor grieving –
Here, while tears should fall,
And sorrow in their leaving,
Though tears fall for man’s defeat
We hold the solemn pride
For all who won this victory –
To have for their country died.
More lasting than our land itself
As solid as this race,
Is the willingness of men to die,
And laugh death in the face.
They cry that laughter of wild-men
And to this marriage race,
Running upon the outstretched sword,
To kiss death on the face.
Staring on their gaping wounds,
These, bleeding their last breath
And wishing well their country-men
Each turns his face to death.
“Come take me then, o Death” they sigh,
“Of life’s cup I took few sips.”
And the bitter gall of glory
Is stolen from their lips.
Now we are left behind them,
To mend or bend or break,
For what they died for to preserve,
Now we the future make.