Rhymes of a Red Cross Man

<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"></SPAN></p> <br/> <h2> The Song of the Soldier-born </h2> <p><i>Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;<br/> Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;<br/> Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.</i><br/> <br/> Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;<br/> A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;<br/> A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.<br/> <br/> For I hold as a simple faith there's no denying:<br/> The trade of a soldier's the only trade worth plying;<br/> The death of a soldier's the only death worth dying.<br/> <br/> So let me go and leave your safety behind me;<br/> Go to the spaces of hazard where nothing shall bind me;<br/> Go till the word is War&mdash;and then you will find me.<br/> <br/> Then you will call me and claim me because you will need me;<br/> Cheer me and gird me and into the battle-wrath speed me. . . .<br/> And when it's over, spurn me and no longer heed me.<br/> <br/> For guile and a purse gold-greased are the arms you carry;<br/> With deeds of paper you fight and with pens you parry;<br/> You call on the hounds of the law your foes to harry.<br/> <br/> You with your "Art for its own sake", posing and prinking;<br/> You with your "Live and be merry", eating and drinking;<br/> You with your "Peace at all hazard", from bright blood shrinking.<br/> <br/> Fools! I will tell you now: though the red rain patters,<br/> And a million of men go down, it's little it matters. . . .<br/> There's the Flag upflung to the stars, though it streams in tatters.<br/> <br/> There's a glory gold never can buy to yearn and to cry for;<br/> There's a hope that's as old as the sky to suffer and sigh for;<br/> There's a faith that out-dazzles the sun to martyr and die for.<br/> <br/> Ah no! it's my dream that War will never be ended;<br/> That men will perish like men, and valour be splendid;<br/> That the Flag by the sword will be served, and honour defended.<br/> <br/> That the tale of my fights will never be ancient story;<br/> That though my eye may be dim and my beard be hoary,<br/> I'll die as a soldier dies on the Field of Glory.<br/> <br/> <i>So give me a strong right arm for a wrong's swift righting;<br/> Stave of a song on my lips as my sword is smiting;<br/> Death in my boots may-be, but fighting, fighting.</i><br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />