How I wish that he would die! So unnerved, unmanned am I. See! His twitching face is white! See! His bubbling blood is bright. Why do I not shout with glee? What strange spell is over me? There he lies; the fight was fair; Let me toss my cap in air. Why am I so silent? Why Do I pray for him to die? Where is all my vengeful joy? Ugh! _MY FOE IS BUT A BOY._ I'd a brother of his age Perished in the war's red rage; Perished in the Ypres hell: Oh, I loved my brother well. And though I be hard and grim, How it makes me think of him! He had just such flaxen hair As the lad that's lying there. Just such frank blue eyes were his. . . . God! How horrible war is! I have reason to be gay: There is one less foe to slay. I have reason to be glad: Yet--my foe is such a lad. So I watch in dull amaze, See his dying eyes a-glaze, See his face grow glorified, See his hands outstretched and wide To that bit of ruined wall Where the flames have ceased to crawl, Where amid the crumbling bricks Hangs _A BLACKENED CRUCIFIX._ Now, oh now I understand. Quick I press it in his hand, Close his feeble finger-tips, Hold it to his faltering lips. As I watch his welling blood I would stem it if I could. God of Pity, let him live! God of Love, forgive, forgive. . . . . . His face looked strangely, as he died, Like that of One they crucified. And in the pocket of his coat I found a letter; thus he wrote: 'The things I've seen! Oh, mother dear, I'm wondering can God be here? To-night amid the drunken brawl I saw a Cross hung on a wall; I'll seek it now, and there alone Perhaps I may atone, atone. . . .' Ah no! 'Tis I who must atone. No other saw but God alone; Yet how can I forget the sight Of that face so woeful white! Dead I kissed him as he lay, Knelt by him and tried to pray; Left him lying there at rest, Crucifix upon his breast. Not for him the pity be. Ye who pity, pity me, Crawling now the ways I trod, Blood-guilty in sight of God. My Job I've got a little job on 'and, the time is drawin' nigh; At seven by the Captain's watch I'm due to go and do it; I wants to 'ave it nice and neat, and pleasin' to the eye, And I 'opes the God of soldier men will see me safely through it. Because, you see, it's somethin' I 'ave never done before; And till you 'as experience noo stunts is always tryin'; The chances is I'll never 'ave to do it any more: At seven by the Captain's watch my little job is . . . _DYIN'._