The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me, That there's some corner of a foreign field, That is, for ever England. There shall be, in that rich earth, a richer dust concealed, A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave once her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blessed by sons of home. And think this heart all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less, Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given, Her sights and sound, gleams happy at her day, And laughs, learns of friends and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. www.mooji.org Copyright © 2020 Mooji Media Ltd. All Rights Reserved. No part of this recording may be reproduced without Mooji Media Ltd.'s express consent. Copyright © 2020 Mooji Media Ltd. All Rights Reserved. No part of this recording may be reproduced without Mooji Media Ltd.'s express consent. Copyright © 2020 Mooji Media Ltd. All Rights Reserved. No part of this recording may be reproduced without Mooji Media Ltd.'s express consent. Copyright © 2020 Mooji Media Ltd. All Rights Reserved. No part of this recording may be reproduced without Mooji Media Ltd.'s express consent.