  All night the tall trees overhead Are whispering to the stars; Their roots are wrapped about the dead And hide the hideous scars. The tide of war goes rolling by, The legions sweep along; And daily in the summer sky The birds will sing their song. No place is this for human tears, The time for tears is done; Transfigured in these awful years, The two worlds blend in one. This boy had visions while in life Of stars on distant skies; So death came in the midst of strife A sudden, glad surprise. He found the songs for which he yearned, Hopes that had mocked desire; His heart is resting now which burned With such consuming fire. So down the ringing road we pass, And leave him where he fell, The guardian trees, the waving grass, The birds will love him well. Frederick George Scott From "In the Battle Silences"—By permission of the Author and The Musson Book Company, Limited, Toronto |
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