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Poem by John McCrae


Mine Host


There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
How have ye fared? They answer him, the most,
This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the gloom
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room.

Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
But silence of a multitude of dead.
Naught can I offer ye, quoth Death, but rest!
And to his chamber leads each tired guest.



John McCrae


John McCrae's other poems:
  1. The Anxious Dead
  2. Anarchy
  3. Equality
  4. Eventide
  5. The Captain


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