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Geordiemuppet

For the fallen

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Geordiemuppet

On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918, the First World War ended. Since then, 11th November or Armistice Day, has been enshrined in the memories of the nation as a day to pause and remember those who have given their lives for the peace and freedom we enjoy today.

The Royal British Legion has always supported the traditional Remembrance Sunday services and the customary Two Minute Silence on that day. As the national custodian of Remembrance, the Legion also believes that when 11 November (Armistice Day) falls on days other than Sundays - on working days - Remembrance should be brought into the everyday life of the Nation on those days as well. The revival of support for observance of this demonstrates that, despite the passing of the years and the declining number of veterans, the nation still feels strongly about Remembrance.

Remembrance transcends all boundaries. The Legion seeks a small yet important individual and collective act, a rare moment when the Nation can stand together and reflect on the price of freedom. That price is still being paid. More than 12,000 British Servicemen and women have been killed or injured on active service since 1945.

'If we are to maintain our peace and freedom, we must always remember.'

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 not grow old, as we who 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 shall 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

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Hodgy

Good poem, reminds be of In Flanders Fields.

 

Thank you.

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