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Robert W Service - The Stretcher-Be
Work rating: Medium

My stretcher is one scarlet stain,
    And as I tries to scrape it clean,
I tell you wot — I`m sick with pain
    For all I`ve `eard, for all I`ve seen;
Around me is the `ellish night,
    And as the war`s red rim I trace,
I wonder if in `Eaven`s height,
    Our God don`t turn away `Is Face.

I don`t care `oose the Crime may be;
    I `olds no brief for kin or clan;
I `ymns no `ate: I only see
    As man destroys his brother man;
I waves no flag: I only know,
    As `ere beside the dead I wait,
A million `earts is weighed with woe,
    A million `omes is desolate.

In drippin` darkness, far and near,
    All night I`ve sought them woeful ones.
Dawn shudders up and still I `ear
    The crimson chorus of the guns.
Look! like a ball of blood the sun
    `Angs o`er the scene of wrath and wrong. . . .
"Quick! Stretcher-bearers on the run!"
    O Prince of Peace! `ow long, `ow long?
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