If I should never see the moon again
Rising red gold across the harvest field,
Or feel the stinging of soft April rain
As the brown earth her hidden treasures yield.
If I should never hear the thrushes wake
Long before the sunrise in the glittering dawn,
Or watch the huge Atlantic rollers break
Against the rugged cliffs in baffling scorn.
If I have said good-bye to stream and wood,
To the wide ocean and the green-clad hills,
I know that He who made this world so good
Has somewhere made a heaven better still.
Major Malcolm Boyd
(Killed on D-Day)