And I learnt that human mercy turns alike to friend or foe
When the darkest hour of all is creeping nigh,
And those who slew our dearest, when their lamps were burning low,
Found help and pity ere they came to die.
So, though much will be forgotten when the sound of War’s alarms
And the days of death and strife have passed away,
I shall always see the vision of Love working amidst arms
In the ward wherein the wounded prisoners lay.
France,
September 1917.
THE TROOP-TRAIN
(France, 1917)
As we came down from Amiens,
And they went up the line,
They waved their careless hands to us,
And cheered the Red Cross sign.
And often I have wondered since,
Repicturing that train,
How many of those laughing souls
Came down the line again.
TO MY WARD-SISTER
Night Duty, December 1917
Through the night-watches of our House of Sighs
In capable serenity of mind
You steadily achieve the tasks designed
With calm, half-smiling, interested eyes;
Though all-unknowing, confidently wise
Concerning pain you never felt, you find
Content from uneventful years arise
As you toil on, mechanically kind.