Rhymes of a Red Cross Man

by
Robert W. Service

The Stretcher-Bearer


My stretcher is one scarlet stain,
And as I tries to scrape it clean,
I tell you wot -- I'm sick with pain
For all I've 'eard, for all I've seen;
Around me is the 'ellish night,
And as the war's red rim I trace,
I wonder if in 'Eaven's height,
Our God don't turn away 'Is Face.

   I don't care 'oose the Crime may be;
   I 'olds no brief for kin or clan;
   I 'ymns no 'ate: I only see
   As man destroys his brother man;
   I waves no flag: I only know,
   As 'ere beside the dead I wait,
   A million 'earts is weighed with woe,
   A million 'omes is desolate.

In drippin' darkness, far and near,
All night I've sought them woeful ones.
Dawn shudders up and still I 'ear
The crimson chorus of the guns.
Look! like a ball of blood the sun
'Angs o'er the scene of wrath and wrong. . . .
"Quick! Stretcher-bearers on the run!"
O PRINCE OF PEACE! 'OW LONG, 'OW LONG?



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