By Geoffrey Bache-Smith
There is a place where voices Of great guns do not come, Where rifle, mine, and mortar For evermore are dumb: Where there is only silence, And peace eternal and rest, Set somewhere in the quiet isles Beyond Death’s starry West. O God, the God of battles, To us who intercede, Give only strength to follow Until there’s no more need, And grant us at that ending Of the unkindly quest To come unto the quiet isles Beyond Death’s starry West.