A Treasury of War Poetry Part 26

Amba.s.sador of Christ you go Up to the very gates of h.e.l.l, Through fog of powder, storm of sh.e.l.l, To speak your Master's message: "Lo, The Prince of Peace is with you still, His peace be with you, His good-will."

It is not small, your priesthood's price.

To be a man and yet stand by, To hold your life while others die, To bless, not share the sacrifice, To watch the strife and take no part-- You with the fire at your heart.

But yours, for our great Captain Christ, To know the sweat of agony, The darkness of Gethsemane, In anguish for these souls unpriced.

Vicegerent of G.o.d's pity you, A sword must pierce your own soul through.

In the pale gleam of new-born day, Apart in some tree-shadowed place, Your altar but a packing-case, Rude as the shed where Mary lay, Your sanctuary the rain-drenched sod, You bring the kneeling soldier G.o.d.

As sentinel you guard the gate 'Twixt life and death, and unto death Speed the brave soul whose failing breath Shudders not at the grip of Fate, But answers, gallant to the end, "Christ is the Word--and I his friend."

Then G.o.d go with you, priest of G.o.d, For all is well and shall be well.

What though you tread the roads of h.e.l.l, Your Captain these same ways has trod.

Above the anguish and the loss Still floats the ensign of His Cross.

_Winifred M. Letts_

SONG OF THE RED CROSS

O gracious ones, we bless your name Upon our bended knee; The voice of love with tongue of flame Records your charity.

Your hearts, your lives right willingly ye gave, That sacred ruth might shine; Ye fell, bright spirits, brave amongst the brave, Compa.s.sionate, divine.

Example from your l.u.s.trous deeds The conqueror shall take, Sowing sublime and fruitful seeds Of _aidos_ in this ache.

And when our griefs have pa.s.sed on gloomy wing, When friend and foe are sped, Sons of a morning to be born shall sing The radiant Cross of Red; Sons of a morning to be born shall sing The radiant Cross of Red.

_Eden Phillpotts_

THE HEALERS

In a vision of the night I saw them, In the battles of the night.

'Mid the roar and the reeling shadows of blood They were moving like light,

Light of the reason, guarded Tense within the will, As a lantern under a tossing of boughs Burns steady and still.

With scrutiny calm, and with fingers Patient as swift They bind up the hurts and the pain-writhen Bodies uplift,

Untired and defenceless; around them With shrieks in its breath Bursts stark from the terrible horizon Impersonal death;

But they take not their courage from anger That blinds the hot being; They take not their pity from weakness; Tender, yet seeing;

Feeling, yet nerved to the uttermost; Keen, like steel; Yet the wounds of the mind they are stricken with, Who shall heal?

They endure to have eyes of the watcher In h.e.l.l, and not swerve For an hour from the faith that they follow, The light that they serve.

Man true to man, to his kindness That overflows all, To his spirit erect in the thunder When all his forts fall,--

This light, in the tiger-mad welter, They serve and they save.

What song shall be worthy to sing of them-- Braver than the brave?

_Laurence Binyon_

THE RED CROSS NURSES

Out where the line of battle cleaves The horizon of woe And sightless warriors clutch the leaves The Red Cross nurses go.

In where the cots of agony Mark death's unmeasured tide-- Bear up the battle's harvestry-- The Red Cross nurses glide.

Look! Where the h.e.l.l of steel has torn Its way through slumbering earth The orphaned urchins kneel forlorn And wonder at their birth.

Until, above them, calm and wise With smile and guiding hand, G.o.d looking through their gentle eyes, The Red Cross nurses stand.

_Thomas L. Ma.s.son_

KILMENY

(A SONG OF THE TRAWLERS)

Dark, dark lay the drifters, against the red west, As they shot their long meshes of steel overside; And the oily green waters were rocking to rest When _Kilmeny_ went out, at the turn of the tide.

And n.o.body knew where that la.s.sie would roam, For the magic that called her was tapping unseen, It was well nigh a week ere _Kilmeny_ came home, And n.o.body knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

She'd a gun at her bow that was Newcastle's best, And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde, And a secret her skipper had never confessed, Not even at dawn, to his newly wed bride; And a wireless that whispered above like a gnome, The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin.

O, it may have been mermaids that lured her from home, But n.o.body knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

It was dark when _Kilmeny_ came home from her quest, With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died; But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast; And "Well done, Kilmeny!" the admiral cried.

Now at sixty-four fathom a conger may come, And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine; But late in the evening _Kilmeny_ came home, And n.o.body knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

There's a wandering shadow that stares at the foam, Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen, Late, late in the evening _Kilmeny_ came home, And n.o.body knew where _Kilmeny_ had been.

_Alfred Noyes_