Page:Patriotic pieces from the Great War, Jones, 1918.djvu/109

Rh And think him your own Jesus. Let him sleep

In your deep bosom, Mary, then you'll see

His lashes, how they curl, so childishly;

You'll weep again, and rock him on your heart

As I did once, that night we had to part.

He'll come to you all bloody and bemired,

But let him sleep, my dear, for he'll be tired,

And very shy. If he'd come home to me

I wouldn't ask the neighbors in to tea....

He always hated crowds.... I'd let him be....

And then perhaps you'll take him by the hand,

And comfort him from fear when he must stand

Before God's dreadful throne; then, will you call

That boy whose bullet made my darling fall,

And take him in your other hand and say—

"O God, whose Son the hands of men did slay,

These are Thy children who do take away the sins of the world...."

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