Just memorized this part of a poem I found a few days ago. It’s called Ode of Remembrance by Lawrence Binyon written after the First World War.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglo.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted.
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the setting of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.