Known but to God

Out of all the brave and beaten men,
whose echoed cries rebound
from their victorious fields,
a soldier died, and bravest yet,
he who would travel back to the unborn--
back to the womb of weakness,
back to the fountainhead of light.

And I can hear resounding,
his last song of where the glory lies.
And it is love. Still it is love.
Oh, It is love.
~