Not sure I really love the THEs in this inscription. The fact that a couple of them come aligned one below the other rather draws attention to their oddness.


But, on the other hand, it all kind of works. The THEs and the AND are the least important words, and although smashing the letters together like this risks the balance of space and line, I think that has been well preserved. There’s an pretty even color overall, though it does clot a bit around the AND.

The image comes as a tweet from The Postal Museum on 10 August marking Laurence Binyon’s 147th birthday.

Too old to enlist in World War I, Binyon volunteered as a hospital orderly at the front. He is best remembered for For the Fallen, the fourth, and sometimes also the third stanzas of which are recited at Remembrance Day ceremonies.

For the Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, 
England mourns for her dead across the sea. 
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, 
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal 
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. 
There is a music in the midst of desolation 
And a glory that shines upon our tears. 

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, 
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. 
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted: 
They fell with their faces to the foe. 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 
At the going down of the sun and in the morning 
We will remember them. 

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 
They sit no more at familiar tables of home; 
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; 
They sleep beyond England’s foam. 

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, 
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known 
As the stars are known to the Night; 

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; 
As the stars are starry in the time of our darkness, 
To the end, to the end, they remain.