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New title: “A SOLDIER IN FLANDERS FIELDS”

A song in conceived in memory of World War I

Song lyrics borrowed from IN FLANDERS FIELDS by John McCrae

and THE SOLDIER by Rupert Brooke,

adapted by Joel Sattler

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Here  

in Flanders Fields poppies blow

In

between the crosses row on row,

They that mark our place

while the larks are bravely singing

Scarce

heard

mid the guns below,

so 

If

I die think only this of me:
where 

In some far away field

I sleep
There

There is a place that

is forever England

Forever England

Forever England there shall

be in that rich earth a richer dust

We

We are the Dead here

A few days ago 

We saw the dawn here

Saw the sunset glow

Just a short time ago

We loved and we were loved

And here we died

As we lived and now here we lie

down in Flanders Fields

It’s your turn to take 

Our quarrel to the foe

And you must go

so from our failing hands

We pass the torch to you

To hold on high you must

Not break the faith

You must not break the faith

With those of us who die if so we shall not sleep

In Flanders

Fields

The place where

the poppies blow

In

between the crosses row on row,

They that mark our place

while the larks are bravely singing

Scarce

heard

mid the guns below, so 

If

I die think only this of me:
where 

In some far away field

I sleep
There

There is a place that

is forever England

Forever England

Forever England there shall

be in that rich earth a richer dust

You must not break the faith

With us

Or else we shall not sleep

although the poppies grow

They grow in Flanders Fields

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Nathan Milstein:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXuzLRVi6qk

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In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

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The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

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