Page:Marching Men - War Verses (1917).pdf/39



HE hearts you knew in those unchallenged years, The hearts that loved you—softer grown with tears,
 * O let them be your living bed,
 * Come home to us, beloved dead!

We will not mourn or praise you over much, We only ask with wistful lips to touch
 * Your garment's hem, and lay sweet boughs
 * Grown of heart's pride upon your brows.

We only ask that with you we may die To all that you have died to, putting by
 * The aims that once set life ablaze,
 * The cares that vexed those restless days.

For something of us perished at your side, The lighter self you knew died when you died;
 * Though we are called by no new name,
 * We, too, have passed that cleansing flame,—