Auxiliaries

Wherever war, with its red woes, Or flood, or fire, or famine goes, There, too, go I; If earth in any quarter quakes Or pestilence its ravage makes, Thither I fly. I kneel behind the soldier's trench, I walk 'mid shambles' smear and stench, The dead I mourn; I bear the stretcher and I bend O'er Fritz and Pierre and Jack to mend What shells have torn. I go wherever men may dare, I go wherever woman's care And love can live, Wherever strength and skill can bring Surcease to human suffering, Or solace give. I helped upon Haldora's shore; With Hospitaller Knights I bore The first red cross; I was the Lady of the Lamp; I saw in Solferino's camp The crimson loss. I am your pennies and your pounds; I am your bodies on their rounds Of pain afar; I am you, doing what you would If you were only where you could -- Your avatar. The cross which on my arm I wear, The flag which o'er my breast I bear, Is but the sign Of what you'd sacrifice for him Who suffers on the hellish rim Of war's red line.

John Finley

["I have once more to remark upon the devotion ot duty, courage, and contempt of danger which has characterized the work of the Chaplains of the Army throughout this compaign." -- Sir John French, in the Nueve Chapelle dispatch.]

Ambassador of Christ you go Up to the very gates of Hell, Through fog of powder, storm of shell, 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 God'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 God. 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 has friend." Then God go with you, priest of God, For all is well and shall be well. What though you tread the roads of Hell, Your Captain these same ways has trod. Above the anguish and the loss Still floats the ensign of His Cross.

Winifred M. Letts

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, Compassionate, divine. Example from you lustrous deeds The conqueror shall take, Sowing sublime and fruitful seeds Of aidos in this ache. And when our griefs have passed 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

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 hell, 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

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 hell 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, God looking through their gentle eyes, The Red Cross nurses stand.

Thomas L. Masson