For oh, when the war will be over <br /> We'll go and we'll look for our dead; <br />We'll go when the bee's on the clover, <br /> And the plume of the poppy is red: <br />We'll go when the year's at its gayest, <br /> When meadows are laughing with flow'rs; <br />And there where the crosses are greyest, <br /> We'll seek for the cross that is ours. <br /> <br />For they cry to us: Friends, we are lonely, <br /> A-weary the night and the day; <br />But come in the blossom-time only, <br /> Come when our graves will be gay: <br />When daffodils all are a-blowing, <br /> And larks are a-thrilling the skies, <br />Oh, come with the hearts of you glowing, <br /> And the joy of the Spring in your eyes. <br /> <br />But never, oh, never come sighing, <br /> For ours was the Splendid Release; <br />And oh, but 'twas joy in the dying <br /> To know we were winning you Peace! <br />So come when the valleys are sheening, <br /> And fledged with the promise of grain; <br />And here where our graves will be greening, <br /> Just smile and be happy again. <br /> <br />And so, when the war will be over, <br /> We'll seek for the Wonderful One; <br />And maiden will look for her lover, <br /> And mother will look for her son; <br />And there will be end to our grieving, <br /> And gladness will gleam over loss, <br />As -- glory beyond all believing! <br /> We point . . . to a name on a cross.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pilgrims/
