COLLECTION OF WW1 VERSE

Gallipoli
Returned Wounded
Tribute
Killed at Dardanelles
Killed in Action

BACK TO MY WRITING DEN
BACK TO HOME PAGE

__________________________________________

Author unknown

GALLIPOLI

A Mother's sweet, sad memories
of her boy who is lying at Gallipoli.

I am sitting at home in the old home, laddie,
Where we kissed our last fond farewell-
The home of your boyhood's dreams, laddie,
The home that you loved so well.

But now you will ne'er come back, laddie,
Your presence will ne'er again dwell,
Your spirit has passed to its Maker, laddie,
Your grave on Gallipoli Hill.

Your dear grave is now on the Hill, laddie,
Where that lonely pine has grown,
Your sweet loving voice in now still, laddie,
Its music for ever has flown,

When you kissed me farewell ere you sailed, laddie,
You spoke of the long years to come,
If you ne'er should return to my arms, laddie,
You prayed God to guard mother and home.

Oh, how I wish you could know, laddie,
What God in his mercy has done,
Our dear, loving Father Himself knew the cost,
When he gave to the world His loved son,

I think of the days that are gone, laddie,
I think of the long years to come,
But, oh, in my heart I thank God, laddie,
Your last thoughts were mother and home.

The dark clouds have gathered o'er our home, laddie,
But a radiance from heaven shines through,
And God's loving presence seems near to me, laddie,
As I sit in the gloaming and dream fondly of you.

May God be the link that will bind us, laddie,
Till we meet in His presence above.
For the sands of my life are near run, laddie,
And I'll soon meet again the boy that I love.

If our lives could be spent o'er again laddie,
And our dim eyes could pierce the veil,
That hides the future from our gaze, laddie,
I know you and I would do the same.

But memories so sad come o'er me, laddie,
I long to see your loved face again,
Then memories so sweet my heart gladden, laddie,
When I know you are free from all sorrow and pain.

This verse concludes with only the word - -MEMORIES

Back to Top

______________________________________________

Returned--Wounded

by Elsie J. T. Oliver

They have sent him back to me, maimed;
From the tumult of shrieking shells;
From the death-strewn ridge by that blue -waved shore,
Over there by the Dardanelles.

His raquet lies on the shelf,
And his football calls in vain,
The dust is thick on his cricket bat,
He will never play again.

He loved the trees and the fields,
And the yellow sands on the shore,
The ripple of grass on a wind-swept hill,
He will never see them more.

I used to be proud of my boy;
He was tall and straight of limb;
Broad of shoulder, and strong of arm--
I was glad as I looked at him.

But I'm prouder now of my son,
Than when, with shining eyes,
He came from his college and hall
With many a hard-won prize.

Prouder than when he fought,
In the heart of a football scrim;
When the great crowd cheered to the echo;
And I knew they were cheering him.

So--What though his sun has set,
And his cloudless skies grown black-
They took away my boy,
And sent a hero back.

________________________________________

Tribute

by Dorothy Francis McCrae

Killed at the front! Oh, noble end!
He died pale children to defend.
No woman called on him in vain,
No aged creature bowed in pain;
He never shunned his country's call,
But gladly gave his life, his all;
Oh noble soldier! Noble end!

Killed at the front! Triumphant death!
No slow disease has stopped his breath,
No wasted chances mock our grief,
Only a courage past belief,
Only a manhood brave and high,
That dared to suffer and to die,
Though sword and bullet stop his breath,
Yet he lives on! Triumphant death!

Killed at the front! Glad sacrifice!
Pride dries the tears in yearning eyes.
Had he stayed sheltered in your arms,
And shut his ears to war's alarms,
Then he had died to you indeed,
But by his death he lives to lead
More men to greater victories,
Oh noble end! Glad sacrifice.

Back to Top

____________________________________

Killed At The Dardanelles

Dead, and that is all!
His portrait smiles from the wall,
And the sheaths of the bulbs he set,
Have not pierced the brown earth yet.

Dead! Some say "at rest,"
Ah, no! That were not the best,
Death could not quench the zeal,
That flamed for his Empire's weal.

Dead! But oh! my heart,
Still shall he do his part;
Still he shall hold his post,
One of a shining host.

Dead, but he shall go,
Wherever our bugles blow,
And his galant soul, set free,
Shall help on each victory.

By Philadelphia Robertson.

Back to Top

________________________________________________________

Killed In Action

So this is the latest list,
Of Australia's dead.
Brave Souls! they went to their death,
With gallant tread.

Here is a fair-faced youth,
Just twenty-one.
The light of somebody's eyes,
Some mother's son.

She sent him away with smiles,
And weeping eyes.
He is buried far away,
'Neath strange blue skies.

Today she sits alone,
With heavy heart,
But glad that in the fight,
He played his part.

Glad that neath the fire,
Of shrieking shell,
And the tumult of the fray,
Her hero fell.

And glad in her deep grief,
Is she to know,
She gave her best to fight,
With England's foe.

By Elsie J. T. Oliver.

Back to Top

_______________________________________________