O God of Battles! Lord of Might! The price of every thoughtless slight To-morrow will be paid! A voice is whisp’rin’ to my ’eart— A voice that makes me sweat an’ start!— ’To-morrow, soul an’ soldier part!’ But I—I’m not afraid! O God of Battles! Lord of Might! ’Ere, in the silence of the night, My ’umble prayer is prayed! All life an’ death are one to you! If I must die—O ’elp me to! In that last moment, see me through— My God! I _am_ afraid! *CEASE FIRE* The fight was done an hour ago: The whole brigade has fallen back, And I’ve been wand’rin’ to and fro, A-askin’ any—white or black, ’Say—have you seen my brother, Jack? His troop was first in the attack!’ I should have seen him here by now: An hour ago the ’cease fire’ went. He isn’t wounded any’ow, ’Cos with the stretcher squads I went, An’ all my other time I’ve spent A-hangin’ round the doctor’s tent. Among the huddled, fallen men I picked a way across the plain. I got a dozen yards, an’ then Came back for fear I’d turn my brain.... The mangled horrors of the slain! O Christ! I can’t go _there_ again! Say, have _you_ seen my brother Jack? Don’t know! an’ damn you, don’t much care!— But ’scuse me, chum, a-talkin’ back, I’m sorter flustered with the glare. These sands are hot, an’ so’s the air— Perhaps he’s doin’ guard somewhere! Old mother said before we went, ’Be sure you keep him in your sight’ (Not knowin’ what a campaign meant). ’Don’t let him stay out late o’ night!’— I wonder if he funked the fight An’ bolted. O pray God he might! They’re layin’ out our dead just now, He can’t be——, no, that—that ain’t sense, An’ when he comes there’ll be a row! A-keepin’ me in this suspense! ’Tis here our line of killed commence, I’ll sorter look—for make-pretence! Pretendin’ some one’s here I know— I’m half inclined to turn aback— But one by one, along I go, And see the crimson clottin’ black.... _His troop was first in the attack!_ What! Jack! Is this—this Thing our Jack? *TOMMY’S AUTOGRAPH* I ’ad lorst my situation, an’ the girl she got the ’ump, An’ the naggin’ of my muvver nearly drove me orf my chump. So I ’oofed it down to Woolwich, to the old recruitin’ starf, An’ they give to me a paper for to fix my autygrarf! Just to fix my autygrarf! Lor’ you should a ’eard me larf! For the blessed Sergeant-Major wos a tryin’ on ’is chaff. Didn’t mind the Doctor’s soundin’s, Nor ’is soap an’ water barf! But the fing as knocked me silly wos that bloomin’ autygrarf!