Lest We Forget

[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]I saw a boy marching, with medals on his chest,
He marched alongside diggers, marching six abreast,
He knew it was Anzac Day, he walked along with pride,
And did his best to keep in step with the diggers by his side.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]And when the march was over the boy looked rather tired.
A digger said. "Whose medals son?" to which the boy replied,,
"They belong to my Dad, but he didn't come back.
He died up in New Guinea, up on the Kokoda Track".[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]The boy looked rather sad, and a tear came to his eye,
But the digger said, "Don't worry son, I'll tell you why,"
He said, "Your old am marched with us today, all the bloomin way,
All us diggers knew he was here, it's like that on Anzac Day.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]The boy looked rather puzzled he didn't understand
But the digger went on talking, and started to wave his hand,
"For this great land we live in, there's a price we have to pay,
To keep Australia free, and fly our flag today.'[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]'Yeas we all love fun and merriment in this country where we live,
"But the price was that some soldier his precious life must give,
"For you to go to school, my son, and worship God at will.
"Somebody had to pay the price, so our diggers paid the bill."[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]"Your dad died for us my son for all things good and true.
"And I hope you can understand these words I've said to you".[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]The boy looked up at the digger and after a little while,
His face changed expression, and he said with a beautiful smile,
I know my dad marched here today, this our Anzac Day,
I know he did, I know he did. all the bloom'n way!"[/FONT]
 
I'll never forget the sacrifices that were made for what we have today.

This song is one that strikes a cord with me. And it's a wish I have.

Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream
words and music by Ed McCurdy

Last night I had the strangest dream
I'd ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war

I dreamed I saw a mighty room
Filled with women and men
And the paper they were signing said
They'd never fight again

And when the paper was all signed
And a million copies made
They all joined hands and bowed their heads
And grateful pray'rs were prayed

And the people in the streets below
Were dancing 'round and 'round
While swords and guns and uniforms
Were scattered on the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream
I'd never dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.
Click to expand...
 
May we never forgot all the soldiers who fought for us.


For The Fallen - Laurence Binyon.

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 of 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.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honour of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We’ll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.

— Moira Michael
 
Back
Top