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.

    The Red Cross Society is in need of help.  Gifts should be addressed
    to Lord Rothschild at Devonshire House, Piccadilly.

FOOTNOTES: 

[Footnote 1:  “Dooiney-molla—­man-praiser—­the friend who backs the suitor.”]

[Footnote 2:  Certain publishers.]

[Footnote 3:  Port of Peace.]

[Footnote 4:  Solace.]

[Footnote 5:  She was born at Chatham on March 28th, 1774.]

[Footnote 6:  Probably he was nearly twenty-four.]

[Footnote 7:  Written in 1829.]

[Footnote 8:  “The Epicure!” said R.L.S.]

[Footnote 9:  A musical festival which took place in Westminster Abbey.]

[Footnote 10:  “To pill” was a cant expression used a good deal by “the set,” meaning, apparently, to talk, either pompously or trivially.]

[Footnote 11:  The cloud-shapes often observed by travellers in the East.]