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In Flanders Fields
John McCrae | December 1915 | John McCrae

Posted on 11/11/2001 2:29:20 AM PST by Clive

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae

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.

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Today is Remembrance Day.

Wear a poppie.

Observe a minute's silence at 1100hrs.

1 posted on 11/11/2001 2:29:21 AM PST by Clive
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To: Clive
A Salute to Lieutenant Colonel McCrae...

And to you for posting this on Veteran's Day.

2 posted on 11/11/2001 2:34:03 AM PST by Joe 6-pack
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To: Clive
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;"

Westmoreland :
Oh, but if we had but one more from England here this day.

Enter Henry:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

3 posted on 11/11/2001 2:34:43 AM PST by ofMagog
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To: Great Dane; liliana; coteblanche; Alberta's Child; headsonpikes
4 posted on 11/11/2001 2:35:05 AM PST by Clive
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To: sarcasm; nopardons; Travis McGee; backhoe; Migraine; jsraggmann; Brian Allen; Great Dane; Kate22...
5 posted on 11/11/2001 2:36:43 AM PST by Clive
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To: ofMagog
The Soldier
by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the Eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given,
Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

6 posted on 11/11/2001 2:40:06 AM PST by Clive
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To: Clive
There was a period of time ,before WWII, when Armistice Day was observed on 11th of November [in remembrance of the veterans of the AEF who died and who were wounded and who had suffered the effects of 'poison gas' during WWI]-

every moving thing ,elevators, the subway, all vehicles , every individual in New York City came to a complete halt at 11 A.M. for a moment of silence .

Poppies offered by the American Legion were worn by most everyone ,signifying the tremendous loss of life by the US Expedionary Force and of the Allies at Flanders field.

Patriotism reigned."The Fighting Irish",for example , were Americans without a hyphen. "Black Jack " Pershing was a hero,as the leader of more than a million of American men sent "overseas" , drove back the enemy from the Argonne Forest and beyond.

Of these million men, one-third suffered death, gas attacks or wounds both mental and physical..

[Patriots like Bill Clinton come to mind...He loathed the military.From the context of his speech at Georgetown,it is apparent that he loathes the United States as well.

[the above a reply to another article.]

7 posted on 11/11/2001 3:15:28 AM PST by prognostigaator
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To: Clive
My older brother served with Pvt. Roger Young on the Island of New Georgia.

ofMagog, Retired
United States Regular Army

8 posted on 11/11/2001 3:24:38 AM PST by ofMagog
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To: carlo3b; LadyX; Billie; ofMagog; COB1; Scuttlebutt; parsifal; Fred Mertz; Snow Bunny
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing is worth a war, is worse.

John Stuart Mill

9 posted on 11/11/2001 3:28:59 AM PST by razorback-bert
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To: Clive

10 posted on 11/11/2001 3:29:39 AM PST by Delta 21
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To: Clive
Poppies offered by the American Legion were worn by most everyone ,signifying the tremendous loss of life by the US Expedionary Force and of the Allies

My Godfather, Ira Gladstone Towson, M.D., was a surgeon with the AEF.... a bump, for the dead-

11 posted on 11/11/2001 3:39:25 AM PST by backhoe
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To: prognostigaator
I Have a Rendezvous with Death

I have a rendezvous with death

At some disputed barricade

When spring comes round with rustling shade

And apple blossoms fill the air.

I have a rendezvous with death

When spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand

And lead me into his dark land

And close my eyes and quench my breath;

It may be I shall pass him still.

I have a rendezvous with death

On some scarred slope of battered hill,

When spring comes round again this year

And the first meadow flowers first appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep

Pillowed in silk and scented down,

Wher love throbs out in blissful sleep,

pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,

Where hush awakenings are dear...

But I've a rendezvous with death

At midnight in some flaming town,

When spring trips north again this year,

And to my pledged word am true,

I shall not fail that rendezvous.

- Alan Seeger (June 22,1888 - July 4,1916)

God bless all our Veterans, living and deceased!

Your humble, and obedient!

12 posted on 11/11/2001 3:42:56 AM PST by Northern Yankee
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To: prognostigaator
In Canada, November 11 is called Remembrance Day.

It was previously called Armistice Day (before WWII).

Poppies are distributed by the Canadian legion. (Not sold, distributed. If you want a poppy, just take one out of the legionnaire's tray. The box with the slot is for contributions. Of course, nobody takes a poppy without donating at least a coin.)

The custom of observing a two minute silence at 1100hrs is today often honoured in the breach, but the custom is still there.

Perhaps it is a happy kingdom whose subjects have largely forgotten the meaning of war.

13 posted on 11/11/2001 3:48:08 AM PST by Clive
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To: Clive
Inspired by the poem, "In Flanders Field", here is  American Moina Michael's response written only a couple of days after the death of John McCrae.
  We Shall Keep the Faith
                          by Moina Michael, November 1918

                          Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
                          Sleep sweet - to rise anew!
                          We caught the torch you threw
                          And holding high, we keep the Faith
                          With All who died.

                          We cherish, too, the poppy red
                          That grows on fields where valor led;
                          It seems to signal to the skies
                          That blood of heroes never dies,
                          But lends a lustre to the red
                          Of the flower that blooms above the dead
                          In Flanders Fields.

                          And now the Torch and Poppy Red
                          We wear in honor of our dead.
                          Fear not that ye have died for naught;
                          We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
                          In Flanders Fields.

14 posted on 11/11/2001 4:01:01 AM PST by Irma
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To: razorback-bert
  "We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."
-Abraham Lincoln First inaugural address, March 4, 1861

Happy Birthday Mom....

15 posted on 11/11/2001 4:16:20 AM PST by carlo3b
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To: razorback-bert
All too true, and important that we remember it today and every day. But let's not neglect the cost side of the coin:

Dulce et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lames; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Freedom, Wealth, and Peace,
Francis W. Porretto
Visit the Palace Of Reason:

16 posted on 11/11/2001 4:28:40 AM PST by fporretto
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To: Clive
I was born in 1940, my earliest memories are of everyone wearing poppies. I haven't seen one in many years.
17 posted on 11/11/2001 4:33:35 AM PST by Ditter
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To: Clive; Byron_the_Aussie; MadIvan; robnoel; OldFriend; nopardons
God bless our beloved fallen who shall not grow old, as we who are left grow old.

God bless the English-Speaking People!

And you, Dear Clive -- and thank you!

18 posted on 11/11/2001 4:44:41 AM PST by Brian Allen
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To: Clive
by John Mitchell

Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below.
You are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We'll prove our faith in you who lie
    In Flanders Fields.

Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom's cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
    In Flanders Fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row by row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.


Another Reply To In Flanders Fields

-- by J. A. Armstrong

In Flanders Fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
  In Flanders Fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.
Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
  In Flanders Fields.

A Third Reply -- "America's Answer"

-- by R. W. Lilliard

Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led
We've taken up. And we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep
With each a cross to mark his bed,
  In Flanders Fields.

Fear not that ye have died for naught.
The torch ye threw to us we caught.
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And Freedom's light shall never die!
We've learned the lesson that ye taught
  In Flanders Fields.

19 posted on 11/11/2001 5:02:37 AM PST by Tennessee_Bob
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Comment #20 Removed by Moderator

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