 They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old, eight shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down to the sun and in the morning, we will remember them. We gather here today with a shared attitude of gratitude. 23 centuries ago, so Plutarch tells us an old Spartan king observed it is not the places that grace men, but men grace the places. In a world awash with change, some things stand firm, some things are, as Plato said, good and true and beautiful. If you have ever known one of the fallen, you've known greatness, but it is hard to be content with their silence, for we miss them. The empty chair on a holiday, empty every day, the photograph that goes wherever you do, the picture fades, but the person in it does not. Their fighting spirit persists, passed down through the ranks, their spirit echoes in those who serve today in the air, on land, and at sea. No words will ease your pain, but I beg you, let it have meaning. Unite your sorrow to their awesome purpose. People do grace places, but people also grace people. We are blessed by our time with those now asleep, the mighty and the gentle. Let us share their story with others then, like the poet we all can say. Sleep, soldiers, still in honored rest, your truth and valor wearing. The bravest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring.