Row upon row of stark white stones

  Against a sea of verdant green.

The sound of the wind through trees

  So lonely and forlorn.

Beneath this hallowed landscape lies

  The flowers of our time.

Those who gave the final measure

  For generations yet unborn.

Missing limbs and shattered dreams

  Of youth cut short too son;

Of missed opportunities

  And promises unfulfilled;

Of love forever lost.

  Called upon they came

And uncomplaining leapt into the flame

  Of war and violence.  Some are dead,

But, all have paid the cost.

  We mourn them and we give thanks

That such as these we breed

  And have bred down through the ages.

Willing to charge into the jaws of death

  For their belived land.

The debt we owe we cannot pay.

  We can but pray that they will know

That we honor them and their sacrifice.

  Our efforts, weak though they may be

We hope they understand.

  Lift your heads, you valiant band.

March on to glory and renown.

  March on, heads held high.  Let spirits soar.

Be not deterred by fear of death or pain.

  We who stay behind

Will not forget your sacrifice.

  We will not let the flame go out.

Your name will always honor bear,

  And, what you gave

Will not have been in vain.