The Red Cross Nurses

OUT where the line of battle cleaves   
The horizon of woe   
And sightless warriors clutch the leaves   
The Red Cross nurses go.   
In where the cots of agony            
Mark death’s unmeasured tide—   
Bear up the battle’s harvestry—   
The Red Cross nurses glide.   

Look! Where the hell of steel has torn   
Its way through slumbering earth            
The orphaned urchins kneel forlorn   
And wonder at their birth.   
Until, above them, calm and wise   
With smile and guiding hand,   
God looking through their gentle eyes,            
The Red Cross nurses stand.

Thomas L. Masson