Sunday, so we can’t
have the soldiers or the gun;
But yesterday Dick said, “I was thinking in church, and I’ve thought
of a game about soldiers, and it’s a perfectly Sunday one;
It’s a Church Parade:  you’ll have to be a lot of officers and men,
Mary’ll do for a few wives and families, and I’ll be Chaplain
to the Forces and pray for everyone at the war.” 
So he put his nightgown over his knickerbocker suit, and knelt on the
Ashantee stool, and Mary and I knelt on the floor. 
I think it was rather nice of Dick, for he said what put it into
his head
Was thinking they mightn’t have much time for their prayers on active
service, and we ought to say them instead. 
I should have liked to parade the lead soldiers, but I didn’t, for
Mother says, “What’s the good of being a soldier’s son if
you can’t do as you’re bid?”
But we thought there’d be no harm in letting the box be there if we
kept on the lid. 
Dick couldn’t pray out of the Prayer-book, because he’s backward with
being delicate, and he can’t read;
So he had to make a prayer out of his own head, and I think he did it
very well indeed. 
He began, “GOD save the Queen, and the Army and the Navy, and the
Irregular Forces and the Volunteers! 
Especially Old Father (he went out with the first draft, and he’s a
Captain in the Royal Engineers"). 
But I said, “I don’t think ‘GOD save the Queen’ is a proper prayer,
I think it’s only a sort of three cheers.” 
So he said, “GOD bless the Generals, and the Colonels, and the Majors,
and the Captains, and the Lieutenants, and the
Sub-lieutenants, and the Quartermasters, and the
non-commissioned officers, and the men;
And the bands, and the colours, and the guns, and the horses and the
wagons, and the gun-carriage they use for the funerals; and
please I should like them all to come home safe again. 
(Don’t, Mary!  I haven’t finished; it isn’t time for you to say Amen.)
I haven’t prayed for the Chaplains, or the Doctors who help the poor
men left groaning on the ground when the victories are won;
And I want to pray particularly for the very poor ones who die of fever
and miss all the fighting and fun. 
GOD bless the good soldiers, like Old Father, and Captain Powder,
and the men with good-conduct medals; and please let the
naughty ones all be forgiven;
And if the black men kill our men, send down white angels to take
their poor dear souls to Heaven!
Now you may both say Amen, and I shall give out hymn four hundred
and thirty-seven.” 
There are eight verses and eight Alleluias, and we can’t sing very
well, but we did our best,
Only Mary would cry in the verse about “Soon, soon to faithful
warriors comes their rest!”
But we’re both very glad Dick has found out a Sunday game about
fighting, for we never had one before;
And now we can play at soldiers every day till Old Father comes
home from the war.