The Dying of Pere Pierre

        ". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
        and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
                                Chronicle.


        "Nay, grieve not that ye can no honour give
        To these poor bones that presently must be
        But carrion; since I have sought to live
        Upon God's earth, as He hath guided me,
        I shall not lack!    Where would ye have me lie?
        High heaven is higher than cathedral nave:
        Do men paint chancels fairer than the sky?"
        Beside the darkened lake they made his grave,
        Below the altar of the hills; and night
        Swung incense clouds of mist in creeping lines
        That twisted through the tree-trunks, where the light
        Groped through the arches of the silent pines:
        And he, beside the lonely path he trod,
        Lay, tombed in splendour, in the House of God.

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

Anarchy

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

Then And Now

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

The Captain

John McCrae, Simple Poetry

English

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The Dying Of Pere Pierre

". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
Chronicle.



"Nay, grieve not that ye can no honour give
To these poor bones that presently must be
But carrion; since I have sought to live
Upon God's earth, as He hath guided me,
I shall not lack!Where would ye have me lie?
High heaven is higher than cathedral nave:
Do men paint chancels fairer than the sky?"
Beside the darkened lake they made his grave,
Below the altar of the hills; and night
Swung incense clouds of mist in creeping lines
That twisted through the tree-trunks, where the light
Groped through the arches of the silent pines:
And he, beside the lonely path he trod,
Lay, tombed in splendour, in the House of God.

John McCrae

Penance

My lover died a century ago,
Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,
Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know
The peace of death.

Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,
Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"
How should they know the vigils that I keep,
The tears I shed?

Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,
Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,
More blest than I.

'Twas just last year, I heard two lovers pass
So near, I caught the tender words he said:
To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass
Above his head.

That night full envious of his life was I,
That youth and love should stand at his behest;
To-night, I envy h...

John McCrae

Penance

        My lover died a century ago,
        Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,
        Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know
            The peace of death.

        Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,
        Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"
        How should they know the vigils that I keep,
            The tears I shed?

        Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,
        Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
        Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,
            More blest than I.

        'Twas just last year -- I heard two lovers pass
        So near, I caught the tender words he said:
        To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass
            ...

John McCrae

The Pilgrims

An uphill path, sun-gleams between the showers,
Where every beam that broke the leaden sky
Lit other hills with fairer ways than ours;
Some clustered graves where half our memories lie;
And one grim Shadow creeping ever nigh:
And this was Life.

Wherein we did another's burden seek,
The tired feet we helped upon the road,
The hand we gave the weary and the weak,
The miles we lightened one another's load,
When, faint to falling, onward yet we strode:
This too was Life.

Till, at the upland, as we turned to go
Amid fair meadows, dusky in the night,
The mists fell back upon the road below;
Broke on our tired eyes the western light;
The very graves were for a moment bright:
And this was Death.

John McCrae

The Pilgrims

        An uphill path, sun-gleams between the showers,
        Where every beam that broke the leaden sky
        Lit other hills with fairer ways than ours;
        Some clustered graves where half our memories lie;
        And one grim Shadow creeping ever nigh:
            And this was Life.

        Wherein we did another's burden seek,
        The tired feet we helped upon the road,
        The hand we gave the weary and the weak,
        The miles we lightened one another's load,
        When, faint to falling, onward yet we strode:
            This too was Life.

        Till, at the upland, as we turned to go
        Amid fair meadows, dusky in the night,
        The mists fell back upon the road below;
        Broke on our tired eyes the western...

John McCrae

The Dead Master

        Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime:
        To-day around him surges from the silences of Time
        A flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
        Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God.

John McCrae