  From Mr. Owen’s book, “Three Hills and Other Poems.” Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd., Publishers, London, England. Special permission to insert in this book. THERE is a hill in England, Green fields and a school I know, Where the balls fly fast in summer, And the whispering elm-trees grow, A little hill, a dear hill, And the playing fields below. There is a hill in Flanders, Heaped with a thousand slain, Where the shells fly night and noontide And the ghosts that died in vain— A little hill, a hard hill, To the souls that died in pain. There is a hill in Jewry, Three crosses pierce the sky, On the midmost He is dying To save all those who die— A little hill, a kind hill To souls in jeopardy. |
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