Page:More songs by the fighting men, soldier poets, second series, 1917.djvu/89

Dudley H. Harris Hear our prayers, O! gentle Jesus,

Send Thine angels down to ease us

From the pains of Hell that seize us,

From our burning, yearning thirst.

We are broken, we are battered,

Bodies twisted, crushed and shattered

By the shells and bullets scattered

On this strip of land accurst.

Round about are shadows creeping,

Formless Things which wake the sleeping,

Glaring eyes from shell-holes peeping,

Mocking always at our pain.

Cold and wet our limbs are numbing,

Fevered brows are drumming, drumming—

Are the stretchers never coming?

Are we numbered with the slain?

God in Heaven, canst Thou hear us?

Mary Mother! Dost Thou fear us?

Stretcher-bearers, are you near us?

Give us water or we die!

But a grisly shadow's creeping

With his cruel scythe a-reaping

Weary souls which fall to sleeping

In a choking, croaking sigh. 85