The Anchor Gospel Ministry

Beneath the Abbey’s vaulted sigh,
Where echoes braid with candlelight,
A soldier sleeps who cannot die,
Kept by the nation’s silent night.

No crest to mark a family line,
No epitaph of rank or claim—
Only a cross, austere, divine,
And England breathing through his name.

He lies for those who bore the mud,
Who marched through smoke, through fear, through flame;
For every heart that spilled its blood,
For every mother’s whispered blame.

Yet here, the lost are found again—
In footsteps soft on ancient stone,
In bowed heads of forgotten men
Who recognize him as their own.

Oh unknown warrior, still you stand
A sentinel of grief and grace:
The weight of home in foreign land,
The countless dead in one small place.

And as the Abbey choirs ascend,
A promise stirs within the air:
That memory’s vigil will not end,
Nor England cease to keep you there.


-	A poem based on the tomb of the unknown warrior at Westminster Abbey.