THE RED CROSS NURSESBy Thomas L.

MassonOUT where the line of battle cleavesThe horizon of woeAnd sightless warriors clutch the leavesThe Red Cross nurses go.

In where the cots of agonyMark death’s unmeasured tide—Bear up the battle’s harvestry—The Red Cross nurses glide.

Look!

Where the hell of steel has tornIts way through slumbering earthThe orphaned urchins kneel forlornAnd wonder at their birth.

Until, above them, calm and wiseWith smile and guiding hand,God looking through their gentle eyes,The Red Cross nurses stand.

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