Page:Patriotic pieces from the Great War, Jones, 1918.djvu/38

34 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER IN THE CONVENT

What is that clanging noise I hear

Through the still convent ringing?

It is the carriage-ambulance

A wounded soldier bringing.

Upon his coat the blood-spots shine;

He limps—a shell has caught him—

His gun he uses for a crutch,

Descending, to support him.

A veteran he, with fierce moustache—

The triple stripes he's wearing—

All prudes and hypocrites he loathes,

And starts by loudly swearing.

Well-nigh insulting are his looks,

With ill-bred gibes he rallies

The novices—beneath their caps

They blush at his coarse sallies.

If at his side, thinking he sleeps,

The sister breathes a prayer,

Straightway astir he fills his pipe

And whistles a bored air.

What use to him their faithful watch,

The care that never ceases?