Lest We Forget

Lest we forget the men who gave,
Their lives through passing years,
The families who stayed at home,
With pride, and hope, and fears.

As Christ poured out His life for us,
Each day; and on the Cross,
So many daily give their lives,
And never count it loss.

It’s not just those who died that gave,
Their lives in wars long gone,
Those who returned have seen such things,
They never should have known.

And daily men are pouring out,
Their lives for others sake,
They fight in fires, and battle crime,
And risks for us they take.

And others go to foreign lands,
To try to show God’s care,
How many, bar their families,
Remember that they’re there?

For as we walk our daily life,
Accepting that we’re free,
How often do we ask ourselves,
“Who gave His life for me?”

How often do we think of Christ,
The One who gave His all?
Of others who their lives still give,
In ways however small.

Each time that someone serves you,
With cheery voice and grin,
Remember, though they’re ‘being paid’,
They’re pouring themselves in.

And if you’re stopped for speeding,
You may think police a pain,
But when there’s a disaster,
You’ll want them there again.

They’ll be there in the front line,
With firemen, medics, all;
Like soldiers in a mighty war,
They’re quick to answer call.

And though their job is daily life,
Each one, he knows real fine,
That any day, at any time, he may
Have to lay his life, upon the line.

And wives and mothers sit at home,
As Mary watched her Son;
And know, despite their fears and tears,
It’s a job that must be done.

When we remember sacrifice,
And those whose life they gave,
We must remember Jesus Christ,
Who died, that us He’d save.

But we must not forget the one,
We see across the street,
That old man, shuffling, oh so slow,
What horrors did he meet?

That ‘drunkard’ sitting at the bar,
Was he in Viet-Nam?
And does he try to blot out sights,
Not fit for any man?

It’s not just the dead who paid the price,
Tucked away in a shallow grave,
But often the living, throughout their lives,
Continue the gift they gave.

For us it’s over, the ‘quake, the war,
This is now, – and that was back then;
For those who were there, it will never be done,
They re-live it; again and again.

So when you walk on a peaceful street,
Enjoying a summer’s breeze,
Remember the ones who are giving still,
That you might walk at your ease.

Remember the ones that have gone before,
And the ones that are still in pain,
Thank God for the ones who gave their lives,
For those giving, please thank Him again.

© Ailsa Yates 3/5/03