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 "IN FLANDERS FIELDS"

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky That 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 falling 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.

—Col. John McCrae.

From the volume "In Flanders Fields," copyright, 1919, by G. P. Putnam's Sons. Printed by permission.