Page:Patriotic pieces from the Great War, Jones, 1918.djvu/39

Rh He knows his leg is lost and done,

And he'll be hacked to pieces.

He's very angry—Let him be!

Here no one knows impatience,

There reigns an atmosphere that soothes

And cows the rudest patients.

Slow is the spell, but sure, that wields

This band, to service given,

With fingers soft they touch the wounds,

And softly speak of Heaven.

So subtle is their pious charm,

Our grumbler soon will see it

In his own way—and to each prayer

Make the response, "So be it!"

—