Flowers for you, O Glory's son, war's prey!
How long, how long since you were laid
To guarded rest where a nation's shrine is made!
Nor care nor fighting touch you there.

A pretty spot, Soldier, above your head,
But you, brave lad, are dead . . . are dead.
And in this world you gallantly forswore
Already leer and snarl the wolves of war,
While folly, hatred, lust and greed
Contend much as before.

Courage and the high heart were yours.
Then shall we patriots supinely heap
Your tomb with wreaths of fame
(Your price for peace now half forgot), and weep
Old tears that Hero is your only name
We know? Nay, lad! We valiant rise to keep
The faith with you and all youth, lest war number
All lovely things of life and dear
With sons he's sent to fatal slumber!

Flowers for you, O Glory's son, war's prey!
How long, how long since you were laid
To guarded rest where a nation's shrine is made!
Nor care nor fighting touch you there.

A pretty spot, Soldier, above your head,
But you, brave lad, are dead . . . are dead.
And in this world you gallantly forswore
Already leer and snarl the wolves of war,
While folly, hatred, lust and greed
Contend much as before.

Courage and the high heart were yours.
Then shall we patriots supinely heap
Your tomb with wreaths of fame
(Your price for peace now half forgot), and weep
Old tears that Hero is your only name
We know? Nay, lad! We valiant rise to keep
The faith with you and all youth, lest war number
All lovely things of life and dear
With sons he's sent to fatal slumber!