Across bloodied fields lay the fallen
Whose sacrifice secured a measure of peace
Yet the gloom of sorrow still cloying
For endless restlessness has not ceased
Years erode their earthly recall
But not in Eternity’s sphere
Where the blood of martyrs appealing
With hallowed voices the humble hear
‘t is ours the baton now bestowed
Ours the rally trumpet call
To complete the race of those now sleeping
With the Cross of Jesus Lord of All
Not far now the end of the road
Not long now a new Day dawns
When light will split tempestuous skies
When Comes One whom Heaven adores
(a poem by Mike Pike on Remembrance Sunday)
