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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