THE BATTLE MOTHER.

Over the sodden trenches —

Over the skirmish line —

High o'er the hole-torn fields and roads

Cometh a face to mine.

Under the burning gas attack,

And the stench of the bursting shell,

We hope we may live for her dear sake —

She who would wish us well.

( She who has ever cherished us —

But when the hour came

Choked back the tears of the faithful years,

As we left to play the game. )

Between the blazing horizons

That hammer the long night through,

Lapping their tongues of hatred —

Fearless she comes to you.

And over the roar of battle

Where the shrill-voiced shrapnel sings,

Shine forth the loving eyes we hold

Above all earthly things.

A World run mad with slaughter —

A charnel-house of blood —

But the face of the Battle Mother

Above the crimson flood.