In A Harvest Field

How quietly beneath the quiet sky These men are sleeping who shall never wake! But soon the plough, the harrow, and the rake Shall pass them as I pass unheeded by; For underneath the fallows they will lie Who front to foe -- good seed for Freedom's sake -- Have fallen, and those who here their harvest make Will wonder at the richness of the rye. But He Who lets no single sparrow fall Unnoted, unremembered, in His care Has garnered all their great self-sacrifice; And though too 'soon in tender earth there lies -- Till crack of doom -- each body made so fair, A happier world shall be memorial.