THREE HILLS
Reading edition
There is a hill in England, Green fields and a school I know, Where the balls fly fast in summer, And the whispering elm-trees grow, A little hill, a dear hill, And the playing fields below.
There is a hill in Flanders, Heaped with a thousand slain, Where the shells fly night and noontide And the ghosts that died in vain,— A little hill, a hard hill To the souls that died in pain.
There is a hill in Jewry, Three crosses pierce the sky, On the midmost He is dying To save all those who die,— A little hill, a kind hill To souls in jeopardy.
Everard Owen
Harrow, December, 1915