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.

I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. * * * Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw