Sunday 4 September 2016

The Red Cross Nurse

She goes amid the maddened press,
    Of Teuton, Briton, Slav, and Gaul,
Our nation's White Ambassadress,
    The foe of none, the friend of all.

Above the guns, above the cheers
    For Flag or Kaiser, Folk or King,
The common cry alone she hears —
    The cry of human suffering.

Still men will play the devil's game,
    Though, all must lose and none may win
And still a foolish world's acclaim
    Exalts the sworded paladin;

But tears will fall and lips will play
    And hearts beat warm in every land
For her who saves while heroes slay.
    Oh, valiant soul; oh, gentle hand!

Poem from The Witness, 27th August 1915.
Image top taken from a WW1 poster for the Belgian Red Cross.

To the Sisters of the Red Cross who have perished in Hospital Ships 
sunk by German submarine

When at last the deeps reveal
    The treasure they have stored.
When the victorious trumpets peal
    For the coming of the Lord –

In glory then shall these arise,
    To take their crowns in fee.
Who hallowed by their sacrifice
    His altars in the sea.

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