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 do n't turn away‘ Is Face.

I do n'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.