by Annette Adams
I was there when all those “boys” my age
Went off to fight a war.
And I was there when those same “men”
Returned to us no more.
I’ve entertained those heroes
On their barren beds of pain,
Those glory-gutted veterans
Who, to this day, remain.
Have you ever been in a “holding pen”
Where we keep those “dregs of war”?
Behind sad eyes, you hear their cries:
“Was this worth fighting for?”
I’ve seen those haunting grave yards
Causing tears to blur my sight,
Those endless rows of crosses
Making fields of silent white.
Their voices plead: “Remember me,
I heard my country’s call.
I, too, was free to hide or flee,
Instead, I gave my all”.
But while we are remembering those
Who “died to make men free…”
And thinking of those crosses–
Signs of death for liberty,
Let’s not forget the One, who
When He heard His Father’s call,
Who, too, was free to hide or flee,
But chose to give His all.
He faced a world at war with sin,
No friend marched by His side,
No flags waved in His honor,
All alone, for us, He died.
But that grave could not keep Him,
Nor forever still His breath.
He won “that” war-to-end-all-wars–
So, remember those white crosses
And those sacrifices grim,
But remember, too, the cross of Christ,
There’s hope because of Him.
“All hail the power of Jesus’ Name…”
We still can sing His praise,
Because His cross cures death’s dark loss
And brings eternal days.
© 2011. Used by Permission.