Part 30 (1/2)

Lord, in this hour of tumult, Lord, in this night of fears, Keep open, oh, keep open My eyes, my ears.

Not blindly, not in hatred, Lord, let me do my part.

Keep open, oh, keep open My mind, my heart!

Prayer of a Soldier in France. [Joyce Kilmer]

My shoulders ache beneath my pack (Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).

I march with feet that burn and smart (Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).

Men shout at me who may not speak (They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).

I may not lift a hand to clear My eyes of salty drops that sear.

(Then shall my fickle soul forget Thy Agony of b.l.o.o.d.y Sweat?)

My rifle hand is stiff and numb (From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).

Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me Than all the hosts of land and sea.

So let me render back again This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.

The White Comrade. [Robert Haven Schauffler]

Under our curtain of fire, Over the clotted clods, We charged, to be withered, to reel And despairingly wheel When the bugles bade us retire From the terrible odds.

As we ebbed with the battle-tide, Fingers of red-hot steel Suddenly closed on my side.

I fell, and began to pray.

I crawled on my hands and lay Where a shallow crater yawned wide; Then I swooned. . . .

When I woke, it was yet day.

Fierce was the pain of my wound, But I saw it was death to stir, For fifty paces away Their trenches were.

In torture I prayed for the dark And the stealthy step of my friend Who, stanch to the very end, Would creep to the danger zone And offer his life as a mark To save my own.

Night fell. I heard his tread, Not stealthy, but firm and serene, As if my comrade's head Were lifted far from that scene Of pa.s.sion and pain and dread; As if my comrade's heart In carnage took no part; As if my comrade's feet Were set on some radiant street Such as no darkness might haunt; As if my comrade's eyes, No deluge of flame could surprise, No death and destruction daunt, No red-beaked bird dismay, Nor sight of decay.

Then in the bursting sh.e.l.ls' dim light I saw he was clad in white.

For a moment I thought that I saw the smock Of a shepherd in search of his flock.

Alert were the enemy, too, And their bullets flew Straight at a mark no bullet could fail; For the seeker was tall and his robe was bright; But he did not flee nor quail.