09/11/2025
For the Fallen
With proud thanksgiving , a mother for her children , England mourns for her dead across the sea . Flesh of her flesh they were , spirit of her spirit , Fallen in the cause of the free .
Solemn the drums thrill : Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres . There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears .
They went with songs to the battle , they were young , Straight of limb , true of eye , steady and aglow . They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted , They fell with their faces to the foe .
They shall grow not old , as we that are left grow old : Age shall not weary them , nor the years condemn . At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them .
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again ; They sit no more at familiar tables of home ; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time ; They sleep beyond England's foam .
But where our desires are and our hopes profound , Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight , To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night ;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain , As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness , To the end , to the end , they remain .
By Laurence Binyon
