WHEN it is finished, Father, and we set
The war-stained buckler and the bright blade by,
Bid us remember then what bloody sweat,
What thorns, what agony
Purchased our wreaths of harvest and ripe ears,
Whose empty hands, whose empty hearts, whose tears
Ransomed the days to be.

We leave them to Thee, Father, we've no price,
No utmost treasure of the seas and lands,
No words, no deeds, to pay their sacrifice.
Only while England stands,
Their pearl, their pride, their altar, not their grave,
Bid us remember in what days they gave
All that mankind may give
That we might live.

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)Say it

Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall, was a Canadian writer who was born in England but lived in Canada from the time she was seven. She was once "thought to be the best Canadian poet of her generation." more…

All Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall poems | Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall Books

★ FAVORITE (1 vote)

Translation

Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

Select another language:

Discuss this Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall poem with the community:

Citation

Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

Style:MLAChicagoAPA

"When It is Finished by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2017. Web. 20 Aug. 2017. <http://www.poetry.net/poem/26479>.

We need you!

Help us build the largest poetry community and poems collection on the web!