Child faces saddened, older than they should be,
And wiser than a lived-out span of years;
One wonders what those self same faces would be,
If they had never looked on pain--if tears
Had never been their portion; if the morrow,
Had never held the pallid ghost of care--
Child faces, graven deep with worlds of sorrow,
Until the light of childhood is not there!
Child faces, once agleam with carefree laughter,
Wide eyes, where smiles like baby rainbows grew;
They are the heritage of ever after,
They are the dreams that never will come true.
They are the words of fate that have been spoken,
And when the tumult of the war is gone,
They will remind a world that hearts were broken,
For, in their souls, France goes to meet her dawn!