The Altar Stone we made Not long ago, Is crumbled and decayed, No fires glow. But tho' the flame is quenched, The garlands dead, The Altar still is drenched With blood new shed! The Wounded Soldier dies Each day a death! Yet soundlessly he cries Below his breath, As drop by drop still drains His life away— But not to martial strains, Nor wreathed in bay! His broken body flayed With ceaseless pain, His anguished nerves are frayed With cruel strain— Forgotten victim of The Sacrifice— Sweet Mary, from above Behold the price! The Unknown Soldier rests, His peace secure— The Dying Soldier jests, To help endure The agonizing nights, And endless days— For patience still he fights, For death he prays. The curls about his brow Are whitened strands, He fashions poppies now, With groping hands. His sightless eyes are dry, He does not moan, As hour on hour creeps by The Altar Stone. Oh, blessèd is our dead Whose death was swift! —He on the Altar laid His final gift— He sleeps in sweet repose, His pangs are gone— But, dear God, pity those Who suffer on! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YANKEE'S RETURN FROM CAMP [JUNE, 1775] by EDWARD BANGS ULYSSES AND THE SIREN by SAMUEL DANIEL BASE DETAILS by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE HIGH-PRIEST TO ALEXANDER by ALFRED TENNYSON LOVE AND LIFE. A SONG by JOHN WILMOT THE TULIP AND THE LILY, SELECTION by JAMES BARCLAY THE DEEPS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |