MemorieS and a Prayef

By Adeline M. Conner

Enshrined in the hearts of the members of the V.F.W.' the crimson poppies of Flanders Field live and bloom in unfading splendor. These lovely flowers have become a symbol of valor and token of remembrance. That in some happier future time they may unfold their glowing petals in a world at peace, is the prayer of every soul who realizes the horror, sacrifice, and waste of war.

Aeons ago in peaceful, smiling fields Bloomed poppies, white as drifted snow; They blushed oft'times beneath the rose of dawn, They caught the golden sheen of sunset's glow, And when the moon her pensive radiance shed, Serene they stood within her silvery light, Like fairy sails their silken petals furledPure, snow-white poppies dreaming thru the night.

A thousand years-and then above the land

The ghastly glare of Joan Arc's funeral pyre Stained every sky with hues of lurid flame

More lasting than the dyes of olden Tyre. And in the springtime rvhen the poppies came To weave their spotless tapestries anew, Lo, on each trembling blossom lay A drop oI blood-red dew.

The slow years passed but there was no surcease. Still discord ruled engendering strife, The night skies glowed with wanton fires, Tumult and wrath on earth were rife.

And now the poppies were no longer whiteTheir. petals told the price of fame; Above the dead who slumbered at their feet They softly spread a shroud of flame.

Then in due time Columbia sent To Flanders'Field her bravest and her bestFrom north and south they came,. from eastern shores And dim Sierras of the west. And warmer blood bedewed the sodThe blood of that young' ardent race Who turned away when life was sweet To meet death face to face.

'Twas then the poppies gained a richer hueAnd now fond memories they keep And share with us, who knowing loss, O'er our young heroes weep. And "Will you keep the faith?" the poppies say, "That these shall not have died in vain; Or must the sod be drenched once more With tears and crimson rain ?"

And in the moonlight when the winds are still, Remembering lost days of peace and light, The poppies dream of springtime hours long dead, And long to wear again their robes of white. A gentle presence lingers near To whom the blood-red poppies pray, "Send Lord, the thousand years of peace And wash these crimson stains away."

'Ed.