Meetings
As up and down I fare by road and street The mothers of our men-at-arms I meet Who die for mine and me, That we go safe and free,
Sit in the sun, sleep soft and find life sweet.
I have two sons too young to fight, too young,
God grant if my hour comes I may be strong, And caught in such a strait May praise God and be great,
Giving my sons to save some woman from wrong!
Oh, mothers of dead heroes, ye I know,
My heart sends you a greeting, soft and low; Blessed are ye whose sons Amid the ransomed
Throng to the banners of Heaven as white as snow.
Somehow, by some secret and certain sign,
The mothers of the beloved I divine Who died in my sons' place. My heart kneels and gives grace.
Gives thanks for you, for you, proud sisters of mine!
Katharine Tynan
Other author posts
St Francis and the Birds
Little sisters, the birds: We must praise God, you and I You, with songs that fill the sky, I, with halting words All things tell His praise,
A Hero
He was so foolish, the poor lad, He made superior people smile Who knew not of the wings he had Budding and growing all the while; Nor that the laurel wreath was made Already for his curly head Silly and childish in his ways; They said: ...
Joining The Colours
RE they go marching all in step so gay Smooth-cheeked and golden, food for shells and guns Blithely they go as to a wedding day, The mothers' sons
To The Others
This was the gleam then that lured from Your son and my son to the Holy War: Your son and my son for the With the banner of Christ over them, in steel arrayed