John McCrae,
           physician,
         soldier,
           and poet,
         died in France a Lieutenant-Colonel
               with the Canadian forces.

    The poem
          which gives this collection
               of his lovely verse
                   its name
            has been extensively reprinted,
           and received with unusual enthusiasm.

    The volume contains,
           as well,
         a striking essay in character
               by his friend,
           Sir Andrew Macphail.

  In Flanders Fields
     And Other Poems,
            by Lieut.

    -Col.

    John McCrae,
           M.D.

    With An Essay
        in Character By Sir
             Andrew Macphail

    {Although the poem itself
        is included shortly,
           this next section
            is included for completeness,
      and to show John McCrae's
                punctuation
          -- also to show
             that I'm not the
                  only one
             who forgets lines.

    -- A. L.}

 
  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 In Flanders fields.

       John McCrae

    {From a} Facsimile
           of an autograph copy
         of the poem
         "In Flanders Fields"

    This was probably
          written from memory as
         "grow"
            is used
               in place of "blow"
             in the first line.
 
  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.

 
  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.