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 _By permission of the Author and "The Times", London_ IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. [F]JOHN MCCRAE _Reprinted by special permission of London "Punch"_ FOOTNOTE: [F] Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae died of pneumonia in France, January, 1918. THE ANXIOUS DEAD O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear Above their heads the legions pressing on: (These fought their fight in time of bitter fear, And died not knowing how the day had gone.) O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar; Then let your mighty chorus witness be To them, and Cæsar, that we still make war. Tell them, O guns, that we have heard their call, That we have sworn, and will not turn aside, That we will onward till we win or fall, That we will keep the faith for which they died. Bid them be patient, and some day, anon, They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep; Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn, And in content may turn them to their sleep. JOHN MCCRAE _By permission of "The Spectator"_ EXTRACT FROM SPEECH OF RT. HON. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE ON BECOMING PREMIER (_December 19, 1916_) . . . . . . . . . .