The Pact

They have no pact to sign--our peaceful dead;
  Pacts are for trembling hands and heads
    grown gray.
Ten million graves record what youth has
    said,
  And cannot now un-say.

They have no pact to sign--our quiet dead
  Whose eyes in that eternal peace are
    drowned.
Age doubts and wakes, and asks if night be
    fled;
  But youth sleeps sound.

They have no pact to sign--our faithful dead.
  Theirs was a deeper pledge, unseen,
    unheard,
Sealed in the dark; not written; sealed with
    red;
  And they will keep their word.

They have no pact to sign--our happy dead.
  But if, O God, if WE should sign in vain,
With dreadful eyes, out of each narrow bed,
  Our dead will rise again.

--Alfred Noyes