With proud thanksgiving, a mother and her children,
England mourns 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 nd royal
Sings sorrow up intoimmortal sheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And 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 condem.
As 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.

I found this in a book of best loved poems, I instantly recognise verse 4, but had never seen the actual poem before.

I thought I would put it on this blog site and dedicate it the the "Worlds Oldest Man" who has died, and all the much younger Soldiers whose bodies have been brought back to their families for their Funerals, and too, for the people of Wooton Bassett.