Good Day, Beautiful People!
25th April 2015 we honour the service men and women for protecting our country! We also stop and pay tribute to the fallen diggers for their sacrifice in different venues all over Australia, Gallipoll and most part of the world. Lest we forget!
For the fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon (1869–1943)
One Hundred Years
One hundred years – what have we learned
Since troop ships first left King George Sound
To spill a generation’s blood And prove a fledgling nationhood
By Anzacs forged on foreign ground?
Our youthful, daring sacrifice
The Empire called – we paid the price
For peace. And freedom’s lives a nation mourned
for those we left and those returned.
The hard fought Anzac legend born.
One hundred years – died we in vain?
Does Anzac spirit yet remain
where rules the rite of self and greed
no hand of help in time of need
and touched by hatred’s evil stain?
We lie beneath the wind’s caress
No gumtrees grace nor wattles dress
Our graves. And oh! how many country boys
Rest not below the Southern Cross
One hundred years – we do not sleep
But restless ghostly vigil keep
among the crosses in their rows
Where myth and memory are met
We make those blood red poppies blow
Year by year – lest you forget.
Link for Spirit of ANZAC: