For the Red Cross

Ye that have gentle hearts and fain To succour men in need, There is no voice could ask in vain With such a cause to plead— The cause of those that in your care, Who know the debt to honour due, Confide the wounds they proudly wear, The wounds they took for you.

Out of the shock of shattering spears, Of screaming shell and shard, Snatched from the smoke that blinds and sears, They come with bodies scarred, And count the hours that idly toll, Restless until their hurts be healed, And they may fare, made strong and whole, To face another field.

And yonder where the battle's waves Broke yesterday o'erhead, Where now the swift and shallow graves Cover our English dead, Think how your sisters play their part, Who serve as in a holy shrine, Tender of hand and brave of heart, Under the Red Cross sign.

Ah, by that symbol, worshipped still, Of life-blood sacrificed, That lonely Cross on Calvary's hill Red with the wounds of Christ; By that free gift to none denied, Let Pity pierce you like a sword, And Love go out to open wide The gate of life restored.