THE SAD YEARS
COMFORT THE WOMEN (Continued)
And shall my cry be heard, that calls so faint,
Through scream of shell and mighty cannon's roar.
Through thunder of the voices that appeal
For His protection at God's closed door?
“Comfort the women, Lord, my neutral prayer
May reach Thy pity where those others fail;
Comfort the women in these warring lands
Who through the battles go, helpless and frail.”
Dim are their eyes that watch the marching past
Of all the splendid manhood and strong youth,
Breaking their hearts, who are so proudly still
Lest their beloved should suffer at the truth.
'Twas not for this barbarity of war
The mother breathless hung by the small cot
That held her man-child, fearing lest a wind
Would blow too chill, or sun would shine too hot.
Or stayed her swifter feet so he might run
Not lost behind, and with all gentle hand
Holding him hers, who now has left her lone.
Comfort the mothers, Lord, through each sad land.
