Thomas of the Light Heart


FACING the guns, he jokes as well   
    As any Judge upon the Bench;   
Between the crash of shell and shell   
    His laughter rings along the trench;   
He seems immensely tickled by a            
Projectile which he calls a “Black Maria.”   

He whistles down the day-long road,   
    And, when the chilly shadows fall   
And heavier hangs the weary load,   
    Is he down-hearted? Not at all.            
’T is then he takes a light and airy   
View of the tedious route to Tipperary.   

His songs are not exactly hymns;   
    He never learned them in the choir;   
And yet they brace his dragging limbs            
    Although they miss the sacred fire;   
Although his choice and cherished gems   
Do not include “The Watch upon the Thames.”   

He takes to fighting as a game;   
    He does no talking, through his hat,            
Of holy missions; all the same   
    He has his faith—be sure of that;   
He’ll not disgrace his sporting breed,   
Nor play what is n’t cricket. There’s his creed.

 
By Owen Seaman