Carry On! — The Cry

But the little wooden crosses You have given the peaceful dead, O the little wooden crosses, By each young low-lying head,-- Though the tender grasses hide them, Or they fall beneath the snows, Not a cross shall be forgotten,-- God Himself has counted those.

THE CRY

They have laid him away;

Even he who was always so strong and gay Will be locked in the earth till the judgment day;

"Dust unto dust" I have heard the priest say.

He will never return;

Though I weep my eyes blind, though I pray and yearn,-- Though the star-light goes out and the great suns burn Into whitest ash,--he will never return.

So of weeping--no more;

It is tears fill the oceans from shore to shore;

They have made the wind salt--the wind at my door;

They harm the good ground--so of weeping--no more.

"Not again!"

"Not again!"

Do you hear the sea singing that one refrain?

The pine trees, the wind and the wearysome rain All whisper it; "Never again!"

--"Not again!"

Who can tell me--who knows, Where his lonely soul travels?

Whither it goes?

-- Has he gone like the leaves?

--Like yesterday's snows?

-- Speak, dear Lord of Death!

You who died--and arose!