A Soldiers Dream

Transferred from a world of sorrow
    Realistic the phantoms seem;
Clear as the noonday shadows
    Friends do they ever seem.
Sorrow and sickness o’ertook me,
    Ah! momentary glimpse of the unseen,
Trouble so hard and oppressing,
    Stay, I will lighten the gloom.

Below in the world of sorrow,
    Striving my right to maintain
Those I have loved and cared for,
    Desolate still remain.
Transfer me once more to the homeland,
    My aching eyes would it see,
Blest with the hope of contentment,
    Poor though it’s all to me.

This world in her bountiful mercy
    Hath laid at the foot of the throne
Riches in sweet abundance.
    Help to the poor whose alone,
Thanks to the kind friends unceasing
    Blest shall their efforts be
When sheathed is the sword of victory
    Peace shall the whole world see.

Bessie Breakey, Drumskelt.

Poem: The Witness, 9th February 1917.
Image: Two soldiers at Arras, 1917 by John Singer Sargent.