William Pike Osborne
As years go by, and on the guns Peace lays her holding
hand, The shell-torn trenches where ye fell, in bitter, glorious
hours, The trenches sown by savage Mars, shall fill with
beauteous flowers.
And then when joyous lark shall sing above the hallowed tomb,
And scenes of carnage are forgot neath nature s glad some bloom,
There shall our branching Maple spread, as sign we ne er forget,
O er those for whom the radiant sun shall rise no more nor set.
O Hero Souls, that crimson leaf a wondering world shall
teach How in a day of furious stress, Canadians filled the
breach, And all who pass thereby shall step with hushed and
reverent tread The where their native Maple marks the bivouac of
our dead.
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