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The Soldiers' Edition of the Oxford Mirror was transcribed by Janet Brandt.

We Shall Not Sleep

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the Crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below.

We are the dead.
Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe,
To you from falling hands we throw the Torch;
Be yours to hold it high;
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.”

America’s Answer

Rest ye in peace ye Flanders dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led
We’ve taken up; and we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep
With each a cross to mark his bed,
And poppies blowing overhead,
Where once his own life blood ran red.
So let your rest be sweet and deep
In Flanders fields.

Fear not that ye have fought for naught
The torch ye threw to us we caught,
Ten million hands will hold it high
And freedom’s light shall never die!
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders fields.

“The muffled drum’s sad roll has beat
The soldier’s last tattoo;
No more on life’s parade shall meet
The brave and fallen few.
On fame’s eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
While glory guards with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.”

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