Deborah (debris4spike) wrote,
Deborah
debris4spike

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Remembrance Day

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918 the guns across The Western Front fell silent, and The Great War was over.

Many thousands had died, many thousands were wounded, many thousands came home with mental and physical scars.  One of my two grandfathers had served in the trenches of France and Belgium from February 1915 to October 1918, when he was sent home with trench feet.  He died Christmas Day 1978 and those times lived with him.

I hope that you all take 2 minutes to pause and reflect on these people as well as all those who have since died.

"They 
shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."

"Greater love thath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends"
        John ch. 15 v.13

"When you go home, tell them of us.
For their tomorrow, we gave our today"


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 contemn.
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.

Laurence Binyon (1869-1943),

Tags: remembrance
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