Poetical Pictures of the Great War Suitable for Recitation. First Series ... Second Series ... Third Series ... Fourth Series. By Mackenzie Bell |
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 | Poetical Pictures of the Great War |  |
AUTUMN, 1914
Death's work had lyddite and shrapnel done
On friend, on foe, ere set of sun,
On friend, on foe, ere set of sun,
And yet Hell's havoc ceased not with night,
But still went on till dawn of light.
But still went on till dawn of light.
But then, with the rose-hued hint of day,
The rouse of battle passed away.
The rouse of battle passed away.
Then, then, was shown what night had hid,
Alas! that eyes should see what they did.
Alas! that eyes should see what they did.
Behold a prospect, half ridge, half plain,
Cumbered, good God, with maimed and slain.
Cumbered, good God, with maimed and slain.
Here lies a soldier, scarce more than boy;
Tending rare flowers his home employ.
Tending rare flowers his home employ.
His jaw is shattered, his face all blood,
Near is his dead horse, smeared with mud.
Near is his dead horse, smeared with mud.
There lies one dead; to his evil face
Even Death itself hath brought no grace.
Even Death itself hath brought no grace.
And here is one, who, once, was a man,
By Nature built on her kindly plan,
By Nature built on her kindly plan,
One leg is mangled; two hands are gone,—
And yet,—and yet,—life lingers on!
And yet,—and yet,—life lingers on!
Unseen by the searchers, and longing for death,
Painfully heaves he breath after breath.
Painfully heaves he breath after breath.
But why prolong the gruesome tale
Of what now cumbers hill and dale?
Of what now cumbers hill and dale?
Because, even here, there comes oft-times
Heaven's light, amid War's sin and crimes.
Heaven's light, amid War's sin and crimes.
Yonder a Frenchman and German lie,
Mortally wounded, and, soon, to die.
Mortally wounded, and, soon, to die.
The German, his water-bottle burst,
Feels all the pangs of a feverish thirst;
Feels all the pangs of a feverish thirst;
And, by a look of mute appeal,
Makes even the heart of his foeman feel,
Makes even the heart of his foeman feel,
And says, as he shares the Frenchman's store,
“Where we are going is no more war.”
“Where we are going is no more war.”
And, as he passed to the Other Land,
He bent and kissed his foeman's hand.
He bent and kissed his foeman's hand.
O! who shall say that none keep tryst
Here, on this grisly field, with Christ?
Here, on this grisly field, with Christ?
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