WHEN the years of strife are over and my recollection fades Of the wards wherein I worked the weeks away, I shall still see, as a vision rising ’mid the War-time shades, The ward in France where German wounded lay. I shall see the pallid faces and the half-suspicious eyes, I shall hear the bitter groans and laboured breath, And recall the loud complaining and the weary tedious cries, And sights and smells of blood and wounds and death. I shall see the convoy cases, blanket-covered on the floor, And watch the heavy stretcher-work begin, And the gleam of knives and bottles through the open theatre door, And the operation patients carried in. I shall see the Sister standing, with her form of youthful grace, And the humour and the wisdom of her smile, And the tale of three years’ warfare on her thin expressive face-- The weariness of many a toil-filled while. I shall think of how I worked for her with nerve and heart and mind, And marvelled at her courage and her skill, And how the dying enemy her tenderness would find Beneath her scornful energy of will. And I learnt that human mercy turns alike to friend or foe When the darkest hour of all is creeping nigh, And those who slew our dearest, when their lamps were burning low, Found help and pity ere they came to die. So, though much will be forgotten when the sound of War’s alarms And the days of death and strife have passed away, I shall always see the vision of Love working amidst arms In the ward wherein the wounded prisoners lay. FRANCE, _September 1917._ THE TROOP-TRAIN (FRANCE, 1917) AS we came down from Amiens, And they went up the line, They waved their careless hands to us, And cheered the Red Cross sign. And often I have wondered since, Repicturing that train, How many of those laughing souls Came down the line again. TO MY WARD-SISTER NIGHT DUTY, DECEMBER 1917 THROUGH the night-watches of our House of Sighs In capable serenity of mind You steadily achieve the tasks designed With calm, half-smiling, interested eyes; Though all-unknowing, confidently wise Concerning pain you never felt, you find Content from uneventful years arise As you toil on, mechanically kind. So thus far have your smooth days passed, but when The tempest none escape shall cloud your sky, And Life grow dark around you, through your pain You’ll learn the meaning of your mercy then To those who blessed you as you passed them by, Nor seek to tread the untroubled road again. FRANCE. TO ANOTHER SISTER