by Jake Frost
In this Pennsylvania field
Our heroes have their rest
Those who were our sword and shield
Our bravest and our best
The ones who gave the greatest gift
That man can ever give
That their fellow countrymen
Through their sacrifice might live
That day on Flight Ninety-Three
When evil stole the sky
And they fought against the enemy
So that no more would die
In the war that good must always win
Each shoed the mettle of his soul
As into war they entered in
With the battle cry, “Let’s roll!”
Like angels in the sky they fought
Against the wicked foe
And like the victory Saint Michael wrought
They cast the evil low
And here their shining wings came down
Here their battle was finally done
And they made this into hallowed ground
With the victory they won
Here their dust mingles in the earth
Here their sacred dust still lies
And will until the world’s rebirth
When against the darkened skies
Bright like the dawn Saint Michael stands
Astride the sea and shore
With the trumpet in his hands
At the final end of war
The world’s foundations then shall shake
At his might trumpet blast
And all God’s saints he shall awake
To rise again at last
When on that day the stars all fall
The angels who guard this ground
To our heroes as they rise shall call,
“The Master beckons with a crown!”
And gather all that holy band
And give each a shining stole
And lead them into Glory Land
With their angel’s cry, “Let’s roll!”
From my book Wings Upon the Unseen Gust
