UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 SS3 fiSS 
 
 ROUGH 
 
 RHYME S 
 
 OFA 
 PADRE 
 
 '' wDd^PBirsi'E Willie" 
 
BiRKElTyN 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNJVflkfTY OF 
 CALIFOtNiA 
 
AruN rtr-rt lit kITIm i tfV- l'. < 
 
"ROUGH RHYMES OF J PADRE 
 
BY THE 
 
 Rev. G. a. STUDDERT KENNEDY, 
 
 M.C, C.F. 
 
 " fVoodbiiie Willie'' 
 
 THE 'ARDEST PART 
 
 ''And the 'ardest part i' the world to play 
 Mim surely be God 'a part. ' ' 
 
 Cloth, $1.50 
 
 HODDER & STOUGHTON LIMITED 
 
 PUBLISHERS - - TORONTO 
 
ROUGH RHYMES OF 
 A PADRE 
 
 BY 
 
 ** WOODBINE WILLIE." M.C.. C.F. 
 
 Author of "The 'Ardest Part" 
 
 HODDER & STOUGHTON LIMITED 
 PUBLISHERS TORONTO 
 
Copyright, Canada, 1918 
 
 HODDER & STOUGHTON LIMITED 
 
 Publishers Toronto 
 
 PRINTED IN CANADA 
 

 TO 
 
 THE OFriCERS AND MEN 
 
 of the 46th and S4th Infantry 
 Divisions Jiving here and heyond 
 the veil these rhymes are dedicated 
 by one who is proud to have been 
 
 G. A. STUDDERT KENNEDY, 
 
 M.C., C.F. 
 
 "Woodbine Willie.'' 
 
 009 
 
Some of these poems were printed at my 
 request and gained great popularity 
 amongst all ranks in the B.E.F. I feel 
 sure that through these homely verses 
 many a man has come to realise for the 
 first time some deep truth of the Sorrow of 
 God in this world's greatest agony. Mr. 
 Studdert Kennedy has had experience in 
 all parts of this battle area as a chaplain 
 and knows and loves the men for whom he 
 writes. I wish this little book of poems 
 every success. 
 
 LLEWELLYN H. GWYNNE, Bp., 
 
 Deputy Chaplain General. 
 
 France, 
 
 January, igi8. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Well? 13 
 
 The Sorrow of God - - - - 21 
 
 Sinner and Saint - - - - 30 
 
 Prayer Before an Attack - - 33 
 
 To-day Thou shalt be with Me - 34 
 
 Thy Will be Done - - - - 36 
 
 The Secret ------ 41 
 
 Christmas ------ 43 
 
 War --44 
 
 A Scrap of Paper - - - - 45 
 
 A Mother Understands - - - 46 
 
 Her Gift 47 
 
 Eternal Hope ----- 50 
 
 Patience ------ 52 
 
 Truth 54 
 
 Death 58 
 
 Paradise ------ 60 
 
 The Spirit 61 
 
CONTENTS— Con«nue(/ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Suffering God - - - - 63 
 
 Two Worlds 69 
 
 English Land in France - - - 71 
 
 His Mate 73 
 
 April _---___ 76 
 
 "The Ending of the Day" - - 78 
 
 What's the Good? - - - . 80 
 
 Right is Might 86 
 
 Judgment - 90 
 
 Wait ----___ 94 
 
 Trees ----__- 95 
 
 What are We Fighting for? - - 97 
 
All the Author* s profits on this volume will 
 
 be given to ST, DUNSTAN'S HOSTEL 
 
 FOR BLINDED SOLDIERS 
 
Well ? 
 
 OUR Padre were a solemn bloke, 
 We called 'im dismal Jim. 
 It fairly gave ye t' bloomin' creeps, 
 
 To sit and 'ark at 'im. 
 When he were on wi' Judgment Day, 
 
 Abaht that great white Throne, 
 And 'ow each chap would 'ave to stand, 
 
 And answer on 'is own. 
 And i£ 'e tried to charnce 'is arm, 
 
 And 'ide a single sin, 
 There'd be the angel Gabriel, 
 
 Wi' books to do 'im in. 
 'E 'ad it all writ dahn, 'e said. 
 
 And nothin' could be 'id, 
 'E 'ad it all i' black and white. 
 
 And 'E would take no kid. 
 And every single idle word, 
 
 A soldier charnced to say, 
 'E'd 'ave it all thrown back at 'im, 
 
 I' court on Judgment Day. 
 
 13 
 
Well I kep' mindin' Billy Briggs, 
 
 A pal o' mine what died. 
 'E went to 'elp our sergeant Smith, 
 
 But as 'e reached 'is side, 
 There came and bust atween 'is legs, 
 
 A big Boche 5.9 pill. 
 And I picked up 'is corpril's stripes. 
 
 That's all there was o' Bill. 
 I called to mind a stinkin' night 
 
 When we was carryin' tea. 
 We went round there by Limerick Lane, 
 
 And Bill was a'ead o' me. 
 'Twere rainin' 'eavens 'ard, ye know. 
 
 And t' boards were thick wi' muck, 
 And umpteen times we slithered dahn. 
 
 And got the dicksee stuck. 
 Well when we got there by the switch, 
 
 A loose board tipped right up. 
 And Bill, 'e turned a somersault. 
 
 And dahn 'e came, and whup! 
 I've 'eard men blind, I've 'eard 'em 
 cuss 
 
 And I've 'eard 'em do it 'ard. 
 Well, 'aven't I 'eard our R.S.M., 
 
 Inspectin' special guard? 
 
 14 
 
But Bill, 'e left 'im standin' still. 
 
 'E turned the black night blue, 
 And I guess the Angel Gabriel 
 
 'Ad short'and work to do. 
 Well, 'ow would poor old Bill go on, 
 
 When 'e stood all alone, 
 And 'ad to 'ear that tale read out. 
 
 Afore the great white throne? 
 If what our Padre says is right, 
 
 'E'd 'ave a rotten spell. 
 And finish up ov it, I s'pose, 
 
 'E'd 'ave to go to 'ell. 
 And yet 'e were a decent lad. 
 
 And met a decent end. 
 You'll never finish decenter. 
 
 Than tryin' to 'elp a friend. 
 But some'ow I can't think it's right. 
 
 It ain't what God would do. 
 This tale of all these record books, 
 
 I think it's all napoo. 
 'Twould let some rotten beggars in, 
 
 And keep some good 'uns out. 
 There's lots of blokes, what does no 
 wrong. 
 
 As can't do nowt but shout. 
 
 15 
 
But t'other night I dreamed a 
 dream, 
 
 And just twixt me and you, 
 I never dreamed like that afore, 
 
 I 'arf thinks it were true. 
 I dreamed as I were dead, ye see, 
 
 At least as I 'ad died. 
 For I were very much alive. 
 
 Out there on t'other side. 
 I couldn't see no judgment court, 
 
 Nor yet that great white throne, 
 I couldn't see no record books, 
 
 I seemed to stand alone. 
 I seemed to stand alone, beside 
 
 A solemn kind o' sea. 
 Its waves they got in my inside, 
 
 And touched my memory. 
 And day by day, and year by year, 
 
 My life came back to me. 
 I see'd just what I were, and what 
 
 I'd 'ad the charnce to be. 
 And all the good I might 'a' done, 
 
 An' 'adn't stopped to do. 
 I see'd I'd made an 'ash of it. 
 
 And Gawd! but it were true. 
 
 i6 ' 
 
A throng o' faces came and went, 
 
 Afore me on that shore, 
 My wife, and Mother, kiddies, pals, 
 
 And the face of a London whore. 
 And some was sweet, and some was 
 sad, 
 
 And some put me to shame. 
 For the dirty things I'd done to 'em, 
 
 When I 'adn't played the game. 
 Then in the silence someone stirred. 
 
 Like when a sick man groans. 
 And a kind o' shivering chill ran through 
 
 The marrer ov my bones. 
 And there before me someone stood. 
 
 Just lookin' dahn at me, 
 And still be'ind 'Im moaned and moaned 
 
 That everlasting sea. 
 I couldn't speak, I felt as though 
 
 'E 'ad me by the throat, 
 'Twere like a drownin' fellah feels. 
 
 Last moment 'e's afloat. 
 And 'E said nowt, 'E just stood still, 
 
 For I dunno 'ow long. 
 It seemed to me like years and years. 
 
 But time out there's all wrong. 
 
 17 
 
What was 'E like? You're askin' now. 
 
 Can't word it anyway. 
 'E just were 'Im, that's all I knows. 
 
 There's things as words can't say. 
 It seemed to me as though 'Is face, 
 
 Were millions rolled in one. 
 It never changed yet always changed, 
 
 Like the sea beneath the sun. 
 'Twere all men's face yet no man's face, 
 
 And a face no man can see, 
 And it seemed to say in silent speech, 
 
 *Ye did 'em all to Me. 
 'The dirty things ye did to them, 
 
 *The filth ye thought was fine, 
 *Ye did 'em all to Me,' it said, 
 
 'For all their souls were Mine.' 
 All eyes was in 'Is eyes, — all eyes, 
 
 My wife's and a million more. 
 And once I thought as those two eyes 
 
 Were the eyes of the London whore. 
 And they was sad, — -My Gawd 'ow sad, 
 
 With tears that seemed to shine. 
 And quivering bright wi' the speech o' 
 light. 
 
 They said, ' 'Er soul was Mine.' 
 
 i8 
 
And then at last 'E said one word, 
 
 'E just said one word 'Well?' 
 And I said in a funny voice, 
 
 Tiease can I go to 'Ell?' 
 And 'E stood there and looked at me, 
 
 And 'E kind o' seemed to grow. 
 Till 'E shone like the sun above my 'ead, 
 
 And then 'E answered 'No 
 'You can't, that 'Ell is for the blind, 
 
 'And not for those that see. 
 'You know that you 'ave earned it, lad, 
 
 'So you must follow Me. 
 'Follow Me on by the paths o' pain, 
 
 'Seeking what you 'ave seen, 
 'Until at last you can build the "Is," 
 
 'Wi' the bricks o' the "Might 'ave 
 been." ' 
 That's what 'E said, as I'm alive, 
 
 And that there dream were true. 
 But what 'E meant,— ^I don't quite know. 
 
 Though I knows what I 'as to do. 
 I's got to follow what I's seen, 
 
 Till this old carcase dies. 
 For I daren't face in the land o' grace. 
 
 The sorrow ov those eyes. 
 
 19 
 
There ain't no throne, and there ain't no 
 books, 
 
 It's 'Im you've got to see, 
 It's 'Im, just 'Im, that is the Judge 
 
 Of blokes like you and me. 
 And boys, I'd sooner frizzle up, 
 
 I' the flames of a burning 'Ell, 
 Than stand and look into 'Is face, 
 
 And 'ear 'Is voice say — 'Well?* 
 
 20 
 
The Sorrow of God 
 
 A Sermon in a Billet 
 
 YES, I used to believe i' Jesus Christ 
 And I used to go to Church, 
 But sin' I left 'ome and came to France, 
 
 I've been clean knocked off my perch. 
 For it seemed orlright at 'ome, it did, 
 
 To believe in a God above 
 And in Jesus Christ 'Is only Son 
 
 What died on the Cross through Love. 
 When I went for a walk of a Sunday morn 
 
 On a nice fine day in the spring, 
 I could see the proof o' the living God 
 
 In every living thing. 
 For 'ow could the grass and the trees 
 grow up. 
 
 All along o' their bloomin* selves? 
 Ye might as well believe i' the fairy tales 
 
 And think they was made by elves. 
 So I thought as that long 'aired atheist 
 
 Were nubbat a silly sod. 
 
 21 
 
For 'ow did e' 'count for my brussels 
 sprouts 
 
 I£ 'e didn't believe i' God. 
 But it ain't the same out 'ere, ye know. 
 
 It's as different as chalk fro' cheese, 
 For 'arf of it's blood and t'other 'arf 's mud, 
 
 And I'm damned if I really sees 
 'Ow the God, who 'as made such a cruel 
 world, 
 
 Can 'ave Love in 'Is 'eart for men, 
 And be deaf to the cries of the men as dies 
 
 And never comes 'ome again. 
 Just look at that little boy corporal there, 
 
 Such a fine upstanding lad, 
 Wi' a will ov 'is own and a way ov 'is own. 
 
 And a smile ov 'is own, 'e 'ad. 
 An hour ago he was bustin' wi' life, 
 
 Wi' 'is actin' and foolin' and fun; 
 'E were simply the life on us all, 'e were. 
 
 Now look what the blighters 'a done. 
 Look at 'im lyin' there all ov a 'eap, 
 
 Wi' the blood soaken over 'is 'ead. 
 Like a beautiful picture spoiled by a fool, 
 
 A bundle o' nothin' — dead. 
 
 22 
 
And it ain't only 'im — there's a mother at 
 'ome, 
 
 And 'e were the pride o£ 'er life. 
 For it's women as pays in a thousand 
 ways 
 
 For the madness o' this 'ere strife. 
 And the lovin' God 'E looks down on it all, 
 
 On the blood and the mud and the smell. 
 O God, if it's true, 'ow I pities You, 
 
 For Ye must be livin' i' 'ell. 
 You must be livin' i' 'ell all day. 
 
 And livin' i' 'ell all night. 
 I'd rather be dead, wi' a 'ole through my 
 'ead, 
 
 I would, by a dam long sight, 
 Than be livin' wi' You on Your 'eavenly 
 throne, 
 
 Lookin' down on yon bloody 'eap 
 That were once a boy full o' life and joy. 
 
 And 'earin' 'is mother weep. 
 The sorrows o' God mun be 'ard to bear 
 
 If 'E really 'as Love in 'Is 'eart. 
 And the 'ardest part i' the world to play 
 
 Mun surely be God's part. 
 
 23 
 
And I wonder if that's what it really means, 
 
 That Figure what 'angs on the Cross. 
 I remember I seed one t'other day 
 
 As I stood wi' the captain's 'oss. 
 I remember, I thinks, think I to mysel', 
 
 It's a long time since 'E died, 
 Yet the world don't seem much better 
 to-day 
 
 Then when 'E were crucified. 
 It's alius the same, as it seems to me, 
 
 The weakest mun go to the wall. 
 And whether 'e's right or whether 'e's 
 wrong. 
 
 It don't seem to matter at all. 
 The better ye are and the 'arder it is. 
 
 The 'arder ye 'ave to fight. 
 It's a cruel 'ard world for any bloke 
 
 What does the thing as is right. 
 And that's 'ow 'E came to be crucified. 
 
 For that's what 'E tried to do. 
 'E were alius a tryin' to do 'Is best 
 
 For the likes o' me and you. 
 Well, what if 'E came to the earth to-day. 
 
 Came walkin' about this trench. 
 
 24 
 
'Ow 'Is 'eart would bleed for the sights 'E 
 seed, 
 
 I' the mud and the blood and the stench. 
 And I guess it would finish 'Im up for good 
 
 When 'E came to this old sap end, 
 And 'E seed that bundle o' nothin' there, 
 
 For 'E wept at the grave ov 'Is friend. 
 And they say 'E were just the image o' 
 God. 
 
 I wonder if God sheds tears, 
 I wonder if God can be sorrowin' still 
 
 And 'as been all these years. 
 I wonder if that's what it really means, 
 
 Not only that 'E once died. 
 Not only that 'E came once to the earth 
 
 And wept and were crucified? 
 Not just that 'E suffered once for all 
 
 To save us from our sins. 
 And then went up to 'Is throne on 'igh 
 
 To wait till 'Is 'eaven begins. 
 But what if 'E came to the earth to show. 
 
 By the paths o' pain that 'E trod. 
 The blistering flame of eternal shame 
 
 That burns in the heart o' God? 
 
 25 
 
O God, if that's 'ow it really is, 
 
 Why, bless ye, I understands, 
 And I feels for You wi' Your thorn- 
 crowned 'ead 
 
 And Your ever pierced 'ands. 
 But why don't Ye bust the show to bits 
 
 And force us to do your will? 
 Why ever should God be suffering so 
 
 And man be sinning still? 
 Why don't You make Your voice ring 
 out 
 
 And drown these cursed guns? 
 Why don't Ye stand with an outstretched 
 hand. 
 
 Out there 'twixt us and the 'Uns? 
 Why don't Ye force us to end the war 
 
 And fix up a lasting peace? 
 Why don't Ye will that the world be still 
 
 And wars for ever cease? 
 That's what I'd do, if I was You, 
 
 And I had a lot of sons 
 What squabbled and fought and spoilt 
 their 'ome 
 
 Same as us boys and the 'Uns. 
 
 26 
 
And yet, I remember, a lad o' mine, 
 
 'E's fightin' now on the sea. 
 And 'e were a thorn in 'is mother's side 
 
 And the pl^igue o' my life to me. 
 Lord, 'ow I used to swish that lad 
 
 Till 'e fairly yelped wi' pain, 
 But fast as I thrashed one devil out 
 
 Another popped in again. 
 And at last, when 'e grew up a strappin' 
 lad, 
 
 'E ups and 'e says to me, 
 'My will's my own and my life's my own. 
 
 And I'm goin', Dad, to sea.' 
 And 'e went, for I 'adn't broke 'is will. 
 
 Though Gawd knows 'ow I tried. 
 And 'e never set eyes on my face again 
 
 Till the day as 'is mother died. 
 Well, maybe, that's 'ow it is wi' God, 
 
 'Is sons 'ave got to be free; 
 Their wills are their own, and their lives 
 their own. 
 
 And that's 'ow it 'as to be. 
 So the Father God goes sorrowing still 
 
 For 'Is world what 'as gone to sea, 
 
 27 
 
But 'E runs up a light on Calvary's 4ght 
 
 That beckons to you and me. 
 The beacon light of the sorrow of God 
 
 'As been shinin' down the years, 
 A flashin' its light through the darkest 
 night 
 
 Of our 'uman blood and tears. 
 There's a sight o' things what I thought 
 was strange, 
 
 As I'm just beginnin' to see. 
 'Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these 
 
 Ye 'ave done it unto me.' 
 So it isn't just only the crown o' thorns 
 
 What 'as pierced and torn God's 'ead; 
 'E knows the feel ov a bullet, too, 
 
 And 'E's 'ad 'Is touch o' the lead. 
 And 'E's standin' wi' me in this 'ere sap, 
 
 And the corporal stands wiv 'Im, 
 And the eyes of the laddie is shinin' bright. 
 
 But the eyes of the Christ burn dim. 
 
 laddie, I thought as ye'd done for me 
 And broke my 'eart wi' your pain. 
 
 1 thought as ye'd taught me that God were 
 
 dead. 
 But ye've brought 'Im to life again. 
 
 28 
 
And yeVe taught me more of what God is 
 
 Than I ever thought to know, 
 For I never thought 'E could come so close 
 
 Or that I-Could love 'Im so. 
 For the voice o£ the Lord, as I 'ears it now, 
 
 Is the voice of my pals what bled. 
 And the call of my country's God to me 
 
 Is the call of my country's dead. 
 
 29 
 
Sinner and Ssint 
 
 A Sermon in a Billet 
 
 OUR Padre, 'e says I'm a sinner, 
 And John Bull says I'm a saint, 
 And they're both of 'em bound to be 
 liars, 
 
 For I'm neither o£ them, I ain't. 
 I'm a man, and a man's a mixture, 
 
 Right down from 'is very birth, 
 For part ov 'im comes from 'eaven. 
 
 And part ov 'im comes from earth. 
 There's nothing in man that's perfect. 
 
 And nothing that's all complete; 
 E's nubbat a big beginning. 
 
 From 'is 'ead to the soles of 'is feet. 
 There's summat as draws 'im uppards. 
 
 And summat as drags 'im down, 
 And the consekence is, 'e wobbles, 
 
 'Twixt muck and a golden crown. 
 Ye remember old Billy Buggins, 
 
 That sargint what lorst 'is stripes? 
 
 30 
 
Well, 'e were a bloomin' 'ero, 
 
 A daisy to scrap, but cripes! 
 That bloke were a blinkin' mixture. 
 
 Of all that were good and bad. 
 For 'e fairly broke 'is mother's 'eart, 
 
 The best friend ever 'e 'ad. 
 But 'e died at Loos to save a pal, 
 
 And that were the other side; 
 'E killed 'is mother and saved 'is pal. 
 
 That's 'ow 'e lived and died. 
 And that's 'ow it is, it's 'uman, 
 
 It's 'eaven and 'ell in one. ^ 
 
 There's the 'ell of a scrap in the 'eart of a 
 man, 
 
 And that scrap's never done. 
 The Good and the Bad's at war, ye see, 
 
 Same as us boys and the Boche, 
 And when both gets goin' with all their 
 guns. 
 
 There's the Saturday night of a squash. 
 And it's just the same wi' the nations. 
 
 As it is wi' a single man. 
 There's 'eaven and 'ell in their vitals, 
 
 A scrappin' as 'ard as they can. 
 
 31 
 
And England, she 'as it in *er, 
 
 Just same as all o' the rest, 
 Old England same as us Englishmen, 
 
 A mixture o' bad and best. 
 And that's what I reckon these parsons 
 mean 
 
 Wi' their Mission o' 'Pentance and 'Ope, 
 They want us to wash old England's face 
 clean, 
 
 Wi' the grace of Gawd for soap. 
 And it ain't a bad stunt neither. 
 
 For England she oughter be clean, 
 For the sake of the boys what 'ave fought 
 and died 
 
 And their kiddies as might 'a' been. 
 We can't let it be for nothin' 
 
 That our pals 'ave fought and bled. 
 So, lads, let's look to this washin' up 
 
 For the sake o' Christ — and our dead. 
 
 32 
 
Prayer Before an Attack 
 
 IT ain't as I 'opes 'E'll keep me safe 
 While the other blokes goes down, 
 It ain't as I wants to leave this world 
 
 And wear an 'ero's crown. 
 It ain't for that as I says my prayers 
 
 When I goes to the attack, 
 But I pray that whatever comes my way 
 
 I may never turn me back. 
 I leaves the matter o' life and death 
 
 To the Father who knows what's best, 
 And I pray that I still may play the man 
 
 Whether I turns east or west. 
 I'd sooner that it were east, ye know, 
 
 To Blighty and my gal Sue. 
 I'd sooner be there, wi' the gold in 'er 'air, 
 
 And the skies be'ind all blue. 
 But still I pray I may do my bit, 
 
 And then, if I must turn west, 
 I'll be unashamed when my name is named, 
 
 And I'll find a soldier's rest. 
 
 33 
 
To-day Thou Shalt be with Me 
 
 GAWD! 'ow it shoots! 
 From my 'ead to my boots ! 
 And back to my 'ead again! 
 You never can tell, 
 But I don't think 'ell 
 Can be worse than this blarsted pain. 
 
 There's 'eaven and 'ell, 
 
 They say so, — Well 
 I dunnow what they mean. 
 
 But it's touch and go. 
 
 And I may soon know, 
 It's funny there's nothin' between. 
 
 I've drunk and I've swore. 
 
 And the girl next door. 
 Is a' breakin' 'er 'eart thro' me. 
 
 She's a bonny lass. 
 
 Gawd damn this gas! 
 I wonder just where I'll be. 
 
 34 
 
I remembers a day, 
 
 When they blazed away, 
 And they bust up a church to bits: 
 
 But the cross still stood, 
 
 It were only wood. 
 This pain — it's givin' me fits. 
 
 Aye, there it stands. 
 
 With its outstretched hands. 
 And I can't 'elp wonderin' why. 
 
 I can't quite see, 
 
 Is 'E lookin' at me? 
 O Gawd, am I goin' to die! 
 
 I can't! Not yet! 
 
 My Gawd, I sweat! 
 There's a mist comin' over my eyes. 
 
 Christ let me be, 
 
 To-day with Thee. 
 You took a thief to Paradise ! 
 
 35 
 
Thy Will Be Done 
 
 A Sermon in a Hospital 
 
 1WERE puzzled about this prayin' stunt, 
 And all as the parsons say, 
 For they kep' on sayin', and sayin', 
 
 And yet it weren't plain no way. 
 For they told us never to worry, 
 
 But simply to trust in the Lord, 
 *Ask and ye shall receive,' they said, 
 
 And it sounds orlright, but Gawd! 
 It's a mighty puzzling business, 
 
 For it don't alius work that way, 
 Ye may ask like mad, and ye don't 
 receive. 
 
 As I found out t'other day. 
 I were sittin' me down on my 'unkers, 
 
 And 'avin' a pull at my pipe. 
 And larfin' like fun at a blind old 'Un, 
 
 What were 'avin a try to snipe. 
 For 'e couldn't shoot for monkey nuts, 
 
 The blinkin' bleareyed ass, 
 
 36 
 
So I sits, and I spits, and I 'urns a tune; 
 
 And I never thought o' the gas. 
 Then all of a suddint I jumps to my feet, 
 
 For I 'eard the strombos sound, 
 And I pops up my 'ead a bit over the 
 bags 
 
 To 'ave a good look all round. 
 And there I seed it, comin' across, 
 
 Like a girt big yaller cloud. 
 Then I 'olds my breath, i' the fear o' death, 
 
 Till I bust, then I prayed aloud. 
 I prayed to the Lord Orlmighty above. 
 
 For to shift that blinkin' wind. 
 But it kep' on blowin' the same 'ole way, 
 
 And the chap next me, 'e grinned. 
 *It's no use prayin',' 'e said, 'let's 
 run,' 
 
 And we fairly took to our 'eels. 
 But the gas ran faster nor we could run. 
 
 And, Gawd, you know 'ow it feels! 
 Like a thousand rats and a million chats, 
 
 All tearin' away at your chest. 
 And your legs won't run, and you're fairly 
 done. 
 
 And you've got to give up and rest. 
 
 37 
 
Then the darkness comes, and ye knows no 
 more 
 
 Till ye wakes in an 'orspital bed. 
 And some never knows nothin' more at 
 all, 
 
 Like my pal Bill — 'e's dead. 
 Now, 'bw was it 'E didn't shift that 
 wind. 
 
 When I axed in the name o' the Lord? 
 With the 'orrer of death in every breath, 
 
 Still I prayed every breath I drawed. 
 That beat me clean, and I thought and I 
 thought 
 
 Till I came near bustin* my 'ead. 
 It weren't for me I were grieved, ye see, 
 
 It were my pal Bill — 'e's dead. 
 For me, I'm a single man, but Bill 
 
 'As kiddies at 'ome and a wife. 
 And why ever the Lord didn't shift that 
 wind 
 
 I just couldn't see for my life. 
 But I've just bin readin' a story 'ere, 
 
 Of the night afore Jesus died. 
 And of 'ow 'E prayed in Gethsemane, 
 
 'Ow 'E fell on 'Is face and cried. 
 
 38 
 
Cried to the Lord Orlmighty above 
 
 Till 'E broke in a bloody sweat, 
 And 'E were the Son o£ the Lord, 'E were. 
 
 And 'E prayed to 'Im 'ard, and yet, 
 And yet 'E 'ad to go through wiv it, boys. 
 
 Just same as pore Bill what died. 
 'E prayed to the Lord, and 'E sweated 
 blood. 
 
 And yet 'E were crucified. 
 
 But 'Is prayer were answered, I sees it 
 now, 
 For though 'E were sorely tried. 
 Still 'E went wiv 'Is trust in the Lord 
 unbroke, 
 And 'Is soul it were satisfied. 
 For 'E felt 'E were doin' God's Will, ye see. 
 
 What 'E came on the earth to do. 
 And the answer what came to the prayers 
 'E prayed 
 Was 'Is power to see it through; 
 To see it through to the bitter end, 
 And to die like a God at the last, 
 In a glory o£ light that were dawning 
 bright 
 Wi' the sorrow of death all past. 
 
 39 
 
And the Christ who was 'ung on the Cross 
 is God, 
 
 True God for me and you, 
 For the only God that a true man trusts 
 
 Is the God that sees it through. 
 And Bill, 'e were doin' 'is duty, boys, 
 
 What 'e came on the earth to do. 
 And the answer what came to the prayers 
 I prayed 
 
 Was 'is power to see it through. 
 To see it through to the very end, 
 
 And to die as my old pal died, 
 Wi' a thought for 'is pal and a prayer for 
 'is gal. 
 
 And 'is brave 'eart satisfied. 
 
 40 
 
The Secret 
 
 V/OU were askin' 'ow we sticks it, 
 •■• Sticks this blarsted rain and mud, 
 'Ow it is we keeps on smilin' 
 
 When the place runs red wi' blood. 
 Since you're askin', I can tell ye, 
 
 And I thinks I tells ye true, 
 But it ain't official, mind ye, 
 
 It's a tip twixt me and you. 
 For the General thinks it's tactics. 
 
 And the bloomin' plans 'e makes. 
 And the CO. thinks it's trainin', 
 
 And the trouble as 'e takes. 
 Sergeant-Major says it's drillin', ' 
 
 And 'is straffin' on parade. 
 Doctor swears it's sanitation, 
 
 And some patent stinks 'e's made. 
 Padre tells us its religion, 
 
 And the Spirit of the Lord; 
 But I ain't got much religion. 
 
 And I sticks it still, by Gawd. 
 
 41 
 
Quarters kids us it's the rations, 
 
 And the dinners as we gets. 
 But I knows what keeps us smilin', 
 
 It's the Woodbine Cigarettes. 
 For the daytime seems more dreary, 
 
 And the night-time seems to drag 
 To eternity o£ darkness, 
 
 When ye 'aven't got a fag. 
 Then the rain seems some'ow wetter, 
 
 And the cold cuts twice as keen, 
 And ye keeps on seein' Boches, 
 
 What the Sargint 'asn't seen. 
 If ole Fritz 'as been and got ye, 
 
 And ye 'ave to stick the pain. 
 If ye 'aven't got a fag on. 
 
 Why it 'urts as bad again. 
 When there ain't no fags to pull at. 
 
 Then there's terror in the ranks. 
 That's the secret — (yes, I'll 'ave one) 
 
 Just a fag — and many Tanks. 
 
 42 
 
Christmas 
 
 COME sail with me, 
 O'er the golden sea, 
 To the land where the rainbow ends. 
 
 Where the rainbow ends. 
 
 And the great earth bends, 
 To the weight of the starry sky. 
 
 Where tempests die 
 
 With a last fierce cry, 
 And never a wind is wild — 
 
 There's a Mother mild, 
 
 With a little child 
 Like a star set on her knee. 
 
 Then bow you down. 
 
 Give Him the crown, 
 'Tis the Lord of the world you see. 
 
 43 
 
War 
 
 THERE'S a soul in the Eternal, 
 Standing stiff before the King. 
 There's a little English maiden 
 
 Sorrowing. 
 There's a proud and tearless woman, 
 Seeing pictures in the fire. 
 There's a broken battered body 
 On the wire. 
 
 44 
 
A Scrap of Paper 
 
 JUST a little scrap of paper 
 In a yellow envelope, 
 And the whole world is a ruin, 
 Even Hope. 
 
 45 
 
A Mother Understands 
 
 r^EAR Lord, I hold my hand to take 
 ■L-^ Thy Body, broken once for me, 
 Accept the Sacrifice I make. 
 
 My Body, broken, Christ, for Thee. 
 
 His was my body, born of me. 
 Born of my bitter travail pain, 
 
 And it lies broken on the field. 
 Swept by the wind and the rain. 
 
 Surely a Mother understands Thy thorn- 
 crowned head, 
 
 The mystery of Thy pierced hands — the 
 Broken Bread. 
 
 46 
 
Her Gift 
 
 DEAD black against a blood red sky 
 It stands, 
 With outstretched hands, 
 The Calvary. 
 What can it mean, 
 
 Beyond the vain recalling o£ a scene, 
 A shameful scene o£ centuries ago? 
 And yet, if that be so, 
 
 How can it be, 
 
 For you and me, 
 A thing of any worth at all? 
 We've seen men die, 
 Not once, nor twice, but many times 
 
 In agony 
 As ghastly to behold as that. 
 We've seen men fall. 
 
 And rise, and staggering onward fall again, 
 Bedrenched in their own blood. 
 Fast flowing like a flood. 
 Of crimson sacrifice upon the snow. 
 
 47 
 
We've seen, and would forget. 
 
 Why then should there be set 
 
 Before our eyes these monuments of crime? 
 
 It's time, high time, 
 
 That they were buried in the past; 
 
 There let them lie, 
 
 In that great sea of merciful oblivion. 
 
 Where our vile deeds. 
 
 And outworn creeds, 
 
 Are left to rot and die. 
 
 We would forget, 
 
 And yet, 
 Do you remember Rob McNeil 
 
 And how he died. 
 
 And cried. 
 And pleaded with his men 
 
 To take that gun, 
 
 And kill the Hun 
 
 That worked it dead? 
 
 He bled 
 Horribly. Do you remember? 
 I can't forget, 
 I would not if I could, 
 It were not right I should, 
 
 He died for me. 
 
 48 
 
He was a God that Boy, 
 
 The only God I could adore. 
 
 And that reminds me I have something here 
 
 He wore 
 
 He gave it m.e that night 
 
 But because my heart was sore 
 
 With grief, I have not dared to look at it. 
 
 But here it is, a little leather case, 
 
 A picture, may be, of the face 
 
 That smiled upon him as a babe, 
 
 All wondering bright. 
 
 With Mother Light, 
 Of tenderest pride and Love. 
 The face that oft would dimple into 
 
 laughter 
 At his first Baby tricks. 
 It is her gift — but look at it, 
 
 A little silver Crucifix. 
 
 49 
 
Eternal Hope 
 
 CAN the Father in His Justice burn in 
 Everlasting flame 
 Souls that sunk in foulest squalor never 
 knew the Father's Name? 
 
 Can the Love o£ man be greater than 
 
 Eternal Love divine? 
 Can the heart of God be harder than this 
 
 hardened heart of mine? 
 
 Can the pangs of Hell be endless, void of 
 object, void of gain, 
 
 Save to pay for years of sorrow with Eter- 
 nity of Pain? 
 
 Cursed be the foul contortion, that hath 
 
 turned His Love to Hate, 
 That hath cried at death's dim portal, 
 
 'Enter here, and 'tis too late,' 
 
 50 
 
Cruel pride and vain presumption claim to 
 
 grasp where angels grope, 
 'Tis not God but mean man blindness 
 
 dims the deathless star of Hope. 
 
 51 
 
Patience 
 
 SOMETIMES I wish that I might do 
 Just one grand deed and die, 
 And by that one grand deed reach up 
 
 To meet God in the sky. 
 But such is not Thy way, O God, 
 
 Not such is Thy decree, 
 But deed by deed, and tear by tear, 
 
 Our souls must climb to Thee, 
 As climbed the only Son of God 
 
 From manger unto Cross, 
 Who learned, through tears and bloody 
 sweat, 
 To count this world but loss. 
 
 Who left the Virgin Mother's Arms 
 To seek those arms of shame. 
 
 Outstretched upon the lonely hill 
 To which the darkness came. 
 
 As deed by deed, and tear by tear. 
 He climbed up to the height, 
 
 52 
 
Each deed a splendid deed, each tear 
 
 A Jewel shining bright, 
 So grant us, Lord, the patient heart, 
 
 To climb the upward way. 
 Until we stand upon the height, 
 
 And see the perfect day. 
 
 53 
 
Truth 
 
 SUNSHINE and shadow, 
 And their strife, 
 Is that indeed the lot in life 
 That God has meted to the sons of men? 
 Through yon gold mist. 
 That God has kissed, 
 And waked to greater glory than the 
 
 day, 
 Is that the way 
 
 By which we climb up to the final place, 
 And see God's face 
 
 Burn through the shadows at the last? 
 It has been so. 
 That much we know. 
 That is the very message of man's past, 
 We know in part. 
 But still the heart 
 Of very Truth seems far away. 
 Time turns our Truth to falsehood. 
 And a brighter day 
 
 54 
 
Makes evening of our morning; 
 
 And round us once again the shadows 
 
 lie, 
 And hide the sun. 
 Our search is never done. 
 We stumble onward toward that light, 
 Too bright 
 
 For us to see unshadowed, lest we die. 
 O God, i£ that be life, 
 To take this strife. 
 And keep it up unbeaten to the end. 
 Then, God of mercy, send 
 One ray 
 
 Of thine own glory light 
 To touch our world to-day. 
 The shadows have departed. 
 And black night 
 
 Lies brooding over all the earth, 
 And hideous things find birth. 
 The world brings forth abortions, 
 And then weeps with bloody tears. 
 Because her womb is shamed, 
 Her children maimed, 
 And all her home becomes a wilderness of 
 
 sin. 
 
 55 
 
The sun is darkened, 
 
 And the moon turned into blood 
 
 And down upon us sweeps a flood 
 
 Of Lust and Cruelty. 
 God sleeps, 
 
 Or is He dead, 
 
 And all that we have read 
 
 Of His great Love a lie, 
 That must be buried with the others 
 
 In the past, 
 
 The last, — the very last. 
 Sweet lie that we shall ever have, 
 To keep us from despair, which is the 
 
 Truth, 
 The cruel Truth? 
 More Light — More Light, 
 O God of Life, one Breath 
 
 Of air 
 Or else we die. 
 The shadows conquer 
 And we lie in darkness, 
 Darkness of despair 
 
 Which is the second death. 
 
 56 
 
But look, the shadows weaken, 
 And the sun beats through. 
 'Tis True— God lives— I knew. 
 I think I always knew! 
 
 57 
 
Death 
 
 OUT from its haven glides the white 
 ship, 
 Kisses still linger warm on thy lip. 
 Follow it, follow it, sweet April eyes, 
 Swift in the distance dim vision dies. 
 Nearer and nearer draws the dread line. 
 Bounding the heaven Love has made thine. 
 Lo! the line conquers, dead is the day, 
 Sunshine is shadowed, all the world grey. 
 Yet to thy loved one there is no line, 
 Still on before him, splendid, divine. 
 Rolls the broad ocean out to the West, 
 Gleams of gold glory crest upon crest. 
 Till it breaks thunder on the far shore. 
 Where he awaits thee, thine evermore. 
 So when thou standest, waiting for death. 
 Watching thy dearest draw his last breath. 
 Nearer and nearer draws the dark mist. 
 Colder than kindness lips that are kissed. 
 
 58 
 
Silent he leaves thee over the line, 
 Night shadows o'er thee, still the stars 
 
 shine. 
 For to thy dearest there is no death, 
 Only a gentle murmuring breath, 
 Wind of God wafts him over life's sea. 
 On to the shores of Eternity. 
 
 59 
 
Paradise 
 
 WHEN machine guns start to play 
 At the ending of the day, 
 And the sun's last burning ray 
 
 Bleeds and dies. 
 When the sable warp of night 
 Is first cleft by silver light, 
 With its sudden curving flight 
 
 Of surprise. 
 It is then that England calls 
 From its cottages and halls. 
 And we think of four dear walls 
 
 And her eyes. 
 When the children's prayer is said, 
 And they lie tucked up in bed. 
 And the fire is burning red, 
 
 Paradise. 
 
 60 
 
The Spirit 
 
 WHEN there ain't no gal to kiss you, 
 And the postman seems to miss you, 
 And the fags have skipped an issue, 
 Carry on. 
 
 When ye've got an empty belly, 
 And the bulley's rotten smelly. 
 And you're shivering like a jelly, 
 Carry on. 
 
 When the Boche has done your chum in. 
 And the sergeant's done the rum in. 
 And there ain't no rations comin'. 
 Carry on. 
 
 When the world is red and reeking, 
 And the shrapnel shells are shrieking, 
 And your blood is slowly leaking. 
 Carry on. 
 
 6i 
 
When the broken battered trenches, 
 Are like bloody butchers' benches, 
 And the air is thick with stenches. 
 Carry on. 
 
 Carry on, 
 
 Though your pals are pale and wan, 
 And the hope of life is gone. 
 Carry on. 
 
 For to do more than you can. 
 Is to be a British man. 
 Not a rotten "also ran," 
 Carry on. 
 
 62 
 
The Suffering God 
 
 IF He could speak, that victim torn and 
 bleeding, 
 Caught in His pain and nailed upon the 
 Cross, 
 Has He to give the comfort souls are 
 needing? 
 Could He destroy the bitterness of loss? 
 
 Once and for all men say He came and 
 bore it, 
 Once and for all set up His throne on 
 high, 
 Conquered the world and set His standard 
 o*er it. 
 Dying that once that men might never 
 die. 
 
 Yet men are dying, dying soul and body, 
 Cursing the God who gave to them their 
 birth. 
 Sick of the world with all its sham and 
 shoddy. 
 Sick of the lies that darken all the earth. 
 
 63 
 
Peace we were pledged, yet blood is ever 
 flowing, 
 Where on the earth has Peace been ever 
 found? 
 Men do but reap the harvest of their sow- 
 ing, 
 Sadly the songs of human reapers sound. 
 
 Sad as the winds that sweep across the 
 ocean. 
 
 Telling to earth the sorrow of the sea. 
 Vain is my strife, just empty idle motion. 
 
 All that has been is all there is to be. 
 
 So on the earth the time waves beat in 
 thunder. 
 Bearing wrecked hopes upon their heav- 
 ing breasts. 
 Bits of dead dreams, and true hearts torn 
 asunder, 
 Flecked with red foam upon their crim- 
 son crests. 
 
 How can it be that God can reign in glory. 
 Calmly content with what His Love has 
 done, 
 
 64 
 
Reading unmoved the piteous shameful 
 story, 
 All the vile deeds men do beneath the 
 sun? 
 
 Are there no tears in the heart of the 
 
 Eternal? 
 
 Is there no pain to pierce the soul of 
 
 God? 
 
 Then must He be a fiend of Hell infernal, 
 
 Beating the earth to pieces with His rod. 
 
 Or is it just that there is nought behind 
 
 it, 
 Nothing but forces purposeless and 
 
 blind? 
 Is the last thing, if mortal man could find 
 
 it, 
 Only a power wand'ring as the wind? 
 
 Father, if He, the Christ, were Thy Re- 
 vealer. 
 Truly the First Begotten of the Lord, 
 
 65 
 
Then must Thou be a Suff'rer and a 
 Healer, 
 Pierced to the heart by the sorrow of the 
 sword. 
 
 Then must it mean, not only that Thy 
 sorrow 
 Smote Thee that once upon the lonely 
 tree, 
 But that to-day, to-night, and on the 
 morrow. 
 Still it will come, O Gallant God, to 
 Thee. 
 
 Red with His blood the better day is 
 dawning. 
 Pierced by His pain the storm clouds roll 
 apart. 
 Rings o'er the earth the message o£ the 
 morning. 
 Still on the Cross the Saviour bares His 
 heart. 
 
 Passionately fierce the voice of God is 
 pleading. 
 Pleading with men to arm them for the 
 fight, 
 
 66 
 
See how those hands, majestically bleed- 
 ing, 
 Call us to rout the armies o£ the 
 night. 
 
 Not to the work o£ sordid selfish saving 
 Of our own souls to dwell with Him on 
 high. 
 But to the soldier's splendid selfless brav- 
 ing, 
 Eager to fight for Righteousness and die. 
 
 Peace does not mean the end of all our 
 striving, 
 Joy does not mean the drying of our 
 tears, 
 Peace is the power that comes to souls 
 arriving, 
 Up to the light where God Himself 
 appears. 
 
 Joy is the wine that God is ever pouring 
 Into the hearts of those who strive with 
 Him, 
 
 67 
 
Light'ning their eyes to vision and adoring, 
 Strength'ning their arms to warfare glad 
 and grim. 
 
 So would I live and not in idle resting, 
 Stupid as swine that wallow in the mire. 
 
 Fain would I fight, and be for ever breast- 
 ing, 
 Danger and death for ever under fire. 
 
 Bread of Thy Body give me for my 
 fighting, 
 Give me to drink Thy sacred Blood for 
 wine. 
 While there are wrongs that need me for 
 the righting. 
 While there is warfare splendid and 
 divine. 
 
 Give me, for light, the sunshine of Thy 
 sorrow. 
 Give me for shelter shadow of Thy 
 Cross, 
 Give me to share the glory of Thy 
 morrow, 
 Gone from my heart the bitterness of 
 Loss. 
 
 68 
 
Two Worlds 
 
 IN the valleys down below, 
 Where the fairest flowers blow, 
 And the brook runs babbling nonsense to 
 the sea, 
 Underneath the shady trees, 
 We two sauntered at our ease, 
 Just a pleasant little world for you and me. 
 
 Then the summons of the Lord, 
 Like a sudden silver sword. 
 
 Came and cut our little pleasant world in 
 two, 
 One fierce world of strife and hate, 
 One sad world where women wait. 
 
 And we wander far apart, dear, I and you. 
 
 And it may be, with this breath. 
 There will come the call of death. 
 And will put another world twixt you and 
 me. 
 
 69 
 
You will stand with God above, 
 I will stand twixt pride and Love, 
 Looking out through mists o£ sorrow o'er 
 the sea. 
 
 For the world in God is one. 
 And when all our strife is done. 
 There will dawn the perfect world for you 
 and me. 
 When we two together stand. 
 Looking upwards, hand in hand, 
 Where the fires of Love have burned up 
 ev'ry sea. 
 
 70 
 
English Land in France 
 
 IN among her golden cornfields, 
 -■• Where the blood-red poppies dance, 
 In a thousand sunny valleys, 
 There is English land in France. 
 
 What our fathers failed to conquer 
 By the weakness of the sword, 
 
 That we have and hold for ever 
 By the power of the Lord. 
 
 All that endless ancient warfare 
 
 Was but bitter barren loss. 
 But the heart of France was conquered. 
 
 When we marked it with the Cross. 
 
 As the Holy Virgin Mother 
 
 Held the Christ Child to her breast; 
 So France holds these sunlit gardens 
 
 Where the Sons of England rest. 
 
 71 
 
Looking down, with eyes o£ wonder, 
 On that tiny pledge of Peace, 
 
 Dreaming dreams of dawning splendour, 
 When the curse of War shall cease. 
 
 72 
 
His Mate 
 
 THERE'S a broken battered village 
 Somewhere up behind the line, 
 There's a dug-out and a bunk there, 
 That I used to say were mine. 
 
 I remember how I reached them, 
 Dripping wet and all forlorn, 
 
 In the dim and dreary twilight 
 Of a weeping summer dawn. 
 
 All that week I'd buried brothers, 
 
 In one bitter battle slain, 
 In one grave I laid two hundred. 
 
 God ! What sorrow and what rain ! 
 
 And that night I'd been in trenches, 
 Seeking out the sodden dead, 
 
 And just dropping them in shell holes, 
 With a service swiftly said. 
 
 73 
 
For the bullets rattled round me, 
 But I couldn't leave them there, 
 
 Water-soaked in flooded shell holes. 
 Reft o£ common Christian prayer. 
 
 So I crawled round on my belly. 
 And I listened to the roar 
 
 Of the guns that hammered Thiepval, 
 Like big breakers on the shore. 
 
 Then there spoke a dripping sergeant, 
 When the time was growing late, 
 
 'Would you please to bury this one, 
 'Cause 'e used to be my mate?' 
 
 So we groped our way in darkness 
 
 To a body lying there. 
 Just a blacker lump of blackness. 
 
 With a red blotch on his hair. 
 
 Though we turned him gently over, 
 Yet I still can hear the thud. 
 
 As the body fell face forward. 
 And then settled in the mud. 
 
 74 
 
We went down upon our faces, 
 And I said the service through, 
 
 From 'I am the Resurrection* 
 To the last, the great *adieu.' 
 
 We stood up to give the Blessing, 
 And commend him to the Lord, 
 
 When a sudden light shot soaring 
 Silver swift and like a sword. 
 
 At a stroke it slew the darkness, 
 Flashed its glory on the mud, 
 
 And I saw the sergeant staring 
 At a crimson clot of blood. 
 
 There are many kinds of sorrow 
 In this world of Love and Hate, 
 
 But there is no sterner sorrow 
 Than a soldier's for his mate. 
 
 75 
 
April 
 
 BREATH o£ Spring, 
 Not come, but coming, 
 In the air. 
 
 Life of earth, not lived 
 But living, 
 Everywhere. 
 Promises, not made, 
 Nor broken, 
 But the token 
 
 Of promises that will be made. 
 Sunshine seeking shade. 
 Red earth, that smiles. 
 And asks for seed. 
 
 And mossy woodland paths, that lead 
 To where the yellow primrose grows. 
 And so for many coloured miles 
 Of open smiling France, 
 While noisy little streaimlets dance, 
 In diamond mirrored suns, 
 
 76 
 
To meet the stately Mother stream that 
 
 flows, 
 With shining dignity, 
 To greet her Lord the sea, 
 And far away, beyond the hills, one hears, 
 Poor village Mother, hence thy tears. 
 The muffled thunder of the guns. 
 
 77 
 
"The Ending of the Day" 
 
 TOIL is over, 
 Scent of clover, 
 Gleams with gold the western way. 
 Farewell sorrow, 
 Till to-morrow, 
 'Tis the ending of the day. 
 
 Shyly, sweetly. 
 
 So discreetly. 
 Trips she down the lovers' way. 
 
 Darling this is 
 
 Time for kisses, 
 'Tis the ending of the day. 
 
 Silvery moonshine. 
 
 All the world mine. 
 Drink we Love's wine while we may. 
 
 Time is flying. 
 
 Leaves are dying, 
 'Tis the ending of the day. 
 
 78 
 
Love is sweetest, 
 
 Frailest, fleetest. 
 Of the joys that will not stay; 
 
 Kisses deeper 
 
 Cannot keep her, 
 'Tis the ending of the day. 
 
 Life is over, 
 
 Dead the clover, 
 All the world is growing grey. 
 
 Barren blisses. 
 
 Colder kisses, 
 'Tis the ending of the day. 
 
 79 
 
What's the Good ? 
 
 WELL, I've done my bit o' scrappin', 
 And I've done in quite a lot; 
 Nicked 'em neatly wiv my bayonet, 
 
 So I needn't waste a shot. 
 'Twas my duty, and I done it, 
 
 But I 'opes the doctor's quick, 
 For I wish I 'adn't done it, 
 
 Gawd ! it turns me shamed and sick. 
 
 There's a young 'un like our Richard, 
 
 And I bashed 'is 'ead in two, 
 And there's that ole grey 'aired geezer 
 
 Which I stuck 'is belly through. 
 Gawd, you women, wives and mothers, 
 
 It's sich waste of all your pain. 
 If you knowed what I'd been doin', 
 
 Could yer kiss me still, my Jane? 
 
 80 
 
When I sets me dahn to tell yer 
 
 What it means to scrap and fight 
 Could I tell ye true and honest, 
 
 Make ye see this bleedin' sight? 
 No, I couldn't and I wouldn't. 
 
 It would turn your 'air all grey. 
 Women suffers 'ell to bear us. 
 
 And we suffers 'ell to slay. 
 I suppose some Fritz went courtin' 
 
 In the gloamin' same as me, 
 And the old world turned to 'eaven 
 
 When they kissed beneath a tree. 
 And each evening seemed more golden. 
 
 Till the day as they was wed. 
 And 'is bride stood shy and blushin'. 
 
 Like a June rose, soft and red. 
 I remembers 'ow it were, lass, 
 
 On that silver night in May, 
 When ye 'ung your 'ead and whispered 
 
 That ye couldn't say me nay. 
 Then, when June brought in the roses 
 
 And you changed your maiden name, 
 'Ow ye stood there, shy and blushin', 
 
 When the call of evening came. 
 
 8i 
 
I remembers 'ow I loved ye, 
 
 When ye arsked me in your pride 
 'Ow I'd liked my Sunday dinner 
 
 As ye nestled at my side. 
 For between a thousand races 
 
 Lands may stretch and seas may foam, 
 But it makes no bloomin' difference, 
 
 Boche or Briton, 'ome is 'ome. 
 I remember what 'e cost ye. 
 
 When I gave ye up for dead. 
 As I 'eld your 'and and watched ye 
 
 With the little lad in bed. 
 
 'StTuth I wish 'e'd stop 'is lookin\ 
 
 And shut up 'is bloomin* eyes. 
 'Cause I keeps on seein' Richard 
 
 When I whacks 'im and 'e cries. 
 Damn the blasted war to 'ell, lass. 
 
 It's just bloody rotten waste. 
 Them as gas on war and glory 
 
 Oughter come and 'ave a taste. 
 Yes, I larned what women suffers 
 
 When I seed you stand the test, 
 But you knowed as it were worth it 
 
 When 'e felt to find your breast. 
 
 82 
 
All your pain were clean forgotten 
 When you touched 'is little 'ead, 
 And ye sat up proud and smilin', 
 
 With a living lad in bed. 
 But we suffers, too — we suffers, 
 
 Like the damned as groans in 'ell, 
 And we 'aven't got no Babies, 
 
 Only mud, and blood, and smell. 
 'Tain't the suff'rin' as I grouse at, 
 
 I can stick my bit o' pain; 
 But I keeps on alius askin' 
 
 What's the good and who's to gain? 
 When ye've got "a plain objective" 
 
 Ye can fight your fight and grin, 
 But there ain't no damned objective. 
 
 And there ain't no prize to win. 
 We're just like a lot o' bullocks 
 
 In a blarsted china shop, 
 Bustin' all the world to blazes, 
 'Cause we dunno 'ow to stop. 
 Trampling years o£ work and wonder 
 
 Into dust beneath our feet, 
 And the one as does most damage 
 Swears that victory is sweet. 
 
 83 
 
It's a sweet as turns to bitter, 
 
 Like the bitterness of gall, 
 And the winner knows 'e's losin* 
 
 If 'e stops to think at all. 
 I suppose this ain't the spirit 
 
 Of the Patriotic man. 
 Didn't ought to do no thinkin'. 
 
 Soldiers just kill all they can. 
 But we carn't 'elp thinkin' sometimes, 
 
 Though our business is to kill. 
 War 'as turned us into butchers. 
 
 But we're only 'uman still. 
 Gawd knows well I ain't no thinker. 
 
 And I never knew before, 
 But I knows now why I'm fightin'. 
 
 It's to put an end to war. 
 Not to make my country richer 
 
 Or to keep her flag unfurled, 
 Over every other nation 
 
 Tyrant mistress of the world. 
 Not to boast of Britain's glory. 
 
 Bought by bloodshed in her wars. 
 But that Peace may shine about her. 
 
 As the sea shines round her shores. 
 
 84 
 
If ole Fritz believes in fightin', 
 
 And obeys 'is War Lord's will, 
 Well, until 'e stops believin'. 
 
 It's my job to fight and kill. 
 But the Briton ain't no butcher, 
 
 'E's a peaceful cove at 'eart. 
 And it's only 'cause 'e 'as to, 
 
 That 'e plays the butcher's part. 
 'Cause I 'as to — that's the reason 
 
 Why I done the likes o' this. 
 You're an understanding woman. 
 
 And you won't refuse your kiss. 
 Women pity soldiers' sorrow, 
 
 That can bring no son to birth, 
 Only death and devastation. 
 
 Darkness over all the earth. 
 We won't 'ave no babe to cuddle. 
 
 Like a blessing to the breast. 
 We'll just 'ave a bloody mem'ry 
 
 To disturb us when we rest. 
 But the kids will someday bless us. 
 
 When they grows up British men, 
 'Cause we tamed the Prussian tyrant, 
 
 And brought Peace to earth again. 
 
 85 
 
Right is Might 
 
 AH yes, I know full well, this is, 
 It has to be, the end o£ things. 
 But would to God it were not so, 
 And we could live eternally, 
 As we lived that one last moment, 
 When you lay within my arms. 
 I never lived before, dear heart. 
 But that, alas! can never be. 
 It must be just a golden flash. 
 Like blooms that for a day adorn 
 The many splendoured garb of God. 
 Then fading, fall to rot and die. 
 Returning, like poor ravished maids 
 To Mother earth, so coldly kind. 
 So must this moment of our lives. 
 Wherein their meaning has found bloom. 
 Be swallowed in that waste of years. 
 In which we do not live, but drift. 
 Drift outward with the tide of time. 
 To that dark land which no man knows. 
 
 86 
 
It must be so. But why, dear, why? 
 Why should we not make permanent 
 That paradisic moment of the past? 
 One movement, just a sign from you. 
 And once again our paradise 
 Would fold us both in such embrace 
 Of purest bliss, that conscience care 
 Could not pierce through to wound and 
 
 maim. 
 Why then should we stand thus, ashamed. 
 With frightened eyes, like children caught 
 In some too sweet forbidden play? 
 Co^e, child, be brave, and take what's 
 
 yours 
 For less than asking. Raise your eyes. 
 One glance from them and heaven's ours. 
 What, downcast still? A miracle. 
 What is there stands twixt you and me? 
 What can there be so strong, that it 
 Avails to keep those eyes downcast, 
 Wherein I saw, a moment back, 
 The lamps of love gleam passionate? 
 * 'Tis God,' you say. Then cursed be 
 
 God 
 Who blights the beauty that I saw, 
 
 87 
 
As though in this drab dreary world, 
 Such beauty were a common thing, 
 And human souls were not half starved 
 And stunted by the lack of that, 
 Which gleamed in glory from your eyes. 
 Curse God who makes the Lily die, 
 And rapes its beauty from the rose. 
 Who bids the sunset flame and fade, 
 And overburdens life with death. 
 Who gives our hearts enough to make 
 Us long for more, then takes away 
 The little that we have. Who turns 
 Our sweetest passions into pains. 
 And will not give us even Peace, 
 Not even Peace in death, for we 
 Are tortured by our dream that death 
 Is dawn of immortality. 
 These endless ever ending joys. 
 Whose aching beauty contradicts 
 The desperate hope of death they teach, 
 Still lure us on into the midst. 
 Where Truth abides. If Truth there be. 
 I know. 'Tis madness. Wind and words. 
 A sod defies its God. Poor fool! 
 I do but hurl myself, my soul, 
 
 88 
 
In futile fury 'gainst a wall 
 Immovable, not built with hands. 
 There must be Truth, since you are True. 
 This beauty dies at birth because 
 It is not Right. O Power of Right, 
 That Thou should'st meet and conquer 
 
 might, 
 Is but a little thing; Thy strength 
 Is only fully shown, when Thou 
 Dost meet and conquer Love like mine. 
 Farewell, sweet soul of mine, farewell. 
 
 89 
 
Judgment 
 
 There is Mercy with Thee, therefore shalt Thou 
 be feared. 
 
 I SAW no thronged angelic court, I saw 
 no great white throne, 
 I saw no open Judgment books, I seemed 
 
 to stand alone. 
 I seemed to stand alone beside a solemn 
 
 sounding sea. 
 While, at my feet upon the shore, broke 
 
 waves of memory. 
 Their murmuring music sobbed and sought 
 
 a way into my soul. 
 The perfect past was present there, and I 
 
 could see it whole. 
 Its beauty and its ugliness, its sorrow and 
 
 its sin, 
 Its splendour and its sordidness, as wave 
 
 on wave rolled in. 
 And ever deeper pierced the pain of all that 
 
 I had lost, 
 
 90 
 
My dear dead dreams o£ perfect things, I 
 saw them tempest-tossed. 
 
 They fell like wreckage at my feet, and, as 
 
 I turned them o'er, 
 The solemn waves, in Memory's caves, kept 
 
 booming 'Nevermore!' 
 
 There came one dream, more dear than all, 
 
 a corpse without a head. 
 The flying spray hissed cowardice, and it 
 
 was dead, cold dead. 
 
 Then suddenly a shadow fell, and I was not 
 
 alone, 
 He stood with me beside the sea, and 
 
 listened to its moan. 
 
 I did not dare to raise my eyes, I feared 
 
 what I might see, 
 A cold sweat broke and bathed my brow, I 
 
 longed to turn and flee. 
 But could not; rooted there I stood, in 
 
 shiv'ring shame and fear. 
 The subtle shadow substance took, and 
 
 nearer came, and near. 
 
 O was it days or was it years, we stood 
 beside that sea, 
 
 91 
 
Or was it aeons, timeless times? It seemed 
 eternity. 
 
 At last, compelled, I raised my eyes. Two 
 
 eyes looked into mine, *'' 
 And shattered all my soul with shame, so 
 
 sad and so divine. 
 It palsied all my pride with pain, the terror 
 
 of those tears. 
 And wrought into my soul the woe o£ all 
 . my wasted years. 
 
 Depart from me, I cried, depart, I cannot 
 
 stand with Thee 
 And face the sorrow of those eyes, beside 
 
 this cruel sea. 
 
 Depart from me, I dare not tread the sands 
 
 those feet have trod. 
 Nor look into those eyes that tell the agony 
 
 of God. 
 
 For there is written all the tale of my soul's 
 trait'rous tryst. 
 
 The sordidness of sin that seared the splen- 
 did eyes of Christ. 
 
 Depart, I cried, and He was gone. I stood 
 there all alone, 
 
 92 
 
In silence save that Memory's sea still 
 
 made perpetual moan. 
 Night shadowed all, and wandering winds 
 
 came wailing from afar, 
 But out across the darkening sea shone 
 
 forth one single star. 
 
 93 
 
Wait 
 
 SILVER clouds and a flying moon, 
 Wail, ye winds, to the reapers* tune 
 For the dead white face upturned. 
 Two grey eyes, all dim with tears, 
 Bleak, how bleak are the barren years. 
 
 When the fires of love are burned. 
 Two brave souls, and the great white King. 
 The end and the aim of everything 
 Is the Peace of God well earned. 
 
 94 
 
o 
 
 Trees 
 
 jNCE glistering green, 
 With dewy sheen, 
 And summer glory round them cast. 
 Now black and bare, 
 The trees stand there, 
 And mourn their beauty that is past. 
 
 Look, leaf by leaf. 
 
 Each leaf a grief. 
 The hand of Autumn strips them bare. 
 
 No sound nor cry. 
 
 As they fall and die, 
 Because they know that Life is there. 
 
 So stiff and strong, 
 
 The winter long, 
 All uncomplaining stand the trees. 
 
 God make my life, 
 
 Through all its strife. 
 As true to Spring as one of these. 
 
 95 
 
So would I stand, 
 
 Serene and grand, 
 While age strips off the joys of youth. 
 
 Because I know 
 
 That, as they go, 
 My soul draws nearer to the Truth. 
 
 He is the Truth, 
 
 In very sooth, 
 The Word made flesh, who dwelt with men. 
 
 And the world shall ring 
 
 With the song of Spring, 
 When thy soul turns to its Lord again. 
 
 When God's soft breath. 
 
 That men call death. 
 Falls gently on thy closing eyes. 
 
 Thy youth, that goes 
 
 Like the red June rose. 
 Shall burst to bloom in Paradise. 
 
 96 
 
What are We Fighting for? 
 
 By An Irishman 
 
 SURE we're off to see the Kaiser, 
 Just to make him somewhat wiser, 
 And to tell him what we think of sich as he. 
 For he's clane outrageous barmy, 
 And we'll give him British Army, 
 When we've made a way to Berlin-on-the- 
 Spree. 
 
 And we're afther little Willie, 
 Just to show him that he's silly, 
 And to give him some respect for sich as 
 we. 
 For he's off his onion too. 
 And he'll find it's all napoo. 
 When we've made a way to Berlin-on-the- 
 Spree. 
 
 'Tis thase Huns have nasty habits, 
 And they brade loike bunny rabbits, 
 They're as plentiful as fishes in the sea. 
 
 97 
 
They're a European pest, 
 To the lot of 'em bad cest, 
 We've got to get to Berlin-on-the-Spree. 
 
 'Tisn't only that we hate 'em, 
 But we've got to up and bate 'em, 
 
 'Cause we want to set the whole world free 
 From the Kaiser and his Krupps, 
 And his brade o' Prussian Pups, 
 
 So we've got to get to Berlin-on-the-Spree. 
 
 Little Mick O'Brien's sisther, 
 Oi remimber when Oi kissed her, 
 
 Says that Oireland is as restless as can be; 
 Sure the boys beyant Killarney 
 Would have had a bether barney 
 
 If they'd come wid us to Berlin-on-the- 
 Spree. 
 
 When ye've got no dacint foight, 
 Thin it's only just and roight, 
 Puttin' up a proivate scrap for two or 
 three ; 
 
 98 
 
But wid millions on the go, 
 . Proivate scrappin' is no go, 
 We've got to get to Berlin-on-the-Spree. 
 
 So we're prayin' for the kiddies, 
 And to comfort all the widdies, 
 
 And to give a thought just now and then to 
 we; 
 And we're straffin' hell for leather, 
 Wid' the divil in the weather, 
 
 For to make a way to Berlin-on-the-Spree. 
 
 Whin ye come to tell the story 
 Of thase days of blood and glory. 
 
 Will ye find a little place for sich as we? 
 Will their blood blot out the shame 
 That has stained the Oirish name. 
 
 Who have doied to get to Berlin-on-the- 
 Spree. 
 
 99 
 
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