Disarmament

        One spake amid the nations, "Let us cease
        From darkening with strife the fair World's light,
        We who are great in war be great in peace.
        No longer let us plead the cause by might."

        But from a million British graves took birth
        A silent voice -- the million spake as one --
        "If ye have righted all the wrongs of earth
        Lay by the sword!    Its work and ours is done."

John McCrae

John Alexander McCrae was a Canadian poet, physician, author, artist, and soldier during World War I. He is best known for writing the famous war memorial poem 'In Flanders Fields.' Born on November 30, 1872, in Guelph, Ontario, McCrae died of pneumonia on January 28, 1918, in Boulogne-sur-Mer, France. His work has been a significant influence on war poetry and remembrance traditions.

John McCrae

Mine Host

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

The Hope of My Heart

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

Equality

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

The Anxious Dead

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Disarmament

One spake amid the nations, "Let us cease
From darkening with strife the fair World's light,
We who are great in war be great in peace.
No longer let us plead the cause by might."

But from a million British graves took birth
A silent voice, the million spake as one,
"If ye have righted all the wrongs of earth
Lay by the sword! Its work and ours is done."

John McCrae

In Flanders Fields

                    In Flanders fields the poppies grow
                    Between the crosses, row on row
                    That mark our place:    and in the sky
                    The larks still bravely singing, fly
                    Scarce heard amid 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 failing 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

John McCrae

In Flanders Fields

                    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 amid 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 failing hands we throw
                    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
                    If ye break faith with us who die
                    We shall not sleep, t...

John McCrae

In Flanders Fields

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 amid 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 failing 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.

John McCrae

Disarmament

We have outgrown the helmet and cuirass,
The spear, the arrow, and the javelin.
These crude inventions of a cruder age,
When men killed men to show their love of God,
And he who slaughtered most was greatest king.
We have outgrown the need of war!
    Should men
Unite in this one thought, all war would end.

Disarm the world; and let all Nations meet
Like Men, not monsters, when disputes arise.
When crossed opinions tangle into snarls,
Let Courts untie them, and not armies cut.
When State discussions breed dissensions, let
Union and Arbitration supersede
The hell-created implements of War.
Disarm the world! and bid destructive thought
Slip like a serpent from the mortal mind
Down through the marshes of oblivion.    Soon
A race of gods shall rise...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Anxious Dead

O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions pressing on:
(These fought their fight in time of bitter fear,
And died not knowing how the day had gone.)

O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see
The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar;
Then let your mighty chorus witness be
To them, and Caesar, that we still make war.

Tell them, O guns, that we have heard their call,
That we have sworn, and will not turn aside,
That we will onward till we win or fall,
That we will keep the faith for which they died.

Bid them be patient, and some day, anon,
They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep;
Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn,
And in content may turn them to their sleep.

John McCrae