We have kept faith, ye Flanders' dead,
Sleep well beneath those poppies red
That mark your place.
The torch your dying hands did throw,
We've held it high before the foe,
And answered bitter blow for blow,
In Flanders fields.

And where your heroes' blood was spilled,
The guns are now forever stilled
And silent grown.
There is no moaning of the slain,
There is no cry of tortured pain,
And blood will never flow again,
In Flanders fields.

Forever holy in our sight
Shall be those crosses gleaming white,
That guard your sleep.
Rest you in peace, the task is done,
The fight you left us we have won,
And Peace on Earth has just begun,
In Flanders now.

Edna Jaques


Across the fields of Flanders
The snow lies as a pall,
And moaning o'er the wasted land,
The winds arise and fall;
But he, who sang in Flanders fields,
Has passed beyond their call.

The spring will come to Flanders,
And poppies bloom again-
As when he marked them sentinel
Upon the cross-strewn plain;
And they will breathe of love and life
Triumphant over pain.

And when we dream of Flanders-
Torn land of griefs and fears-
We shall recall his memory
Through all the coming years;
When silence broods o'er Flanders fields,
And peace enshrines our tears.

Stella M. Bainbridge