82 LOUISE DRISCOLL
Forward — march ! — into the tray !
No bugles blow to-day,
No captains lead the way ;
But mothers and wives,
Fathers, sisters, little sons.
Count the cost
Of the lost ;
And we count the unlived lives,
The forever unborn ones
Who might have been your sons.
The Bearer
Could not the hands of these rebuild
That which has been destroyed ?
Oh, the poor hands ! that once were strong and
filled With implements of labor whereby they Served home and country through the peaceful day. When those who made the war stand face to face With these slain soldiers in that unknown place Whither the dead go, what will be the word By dead lips spoken and by dead ears heard ? Will souls say King or Kaiser? Will souls prate Of earthly glory in that new estate ?
The Counter
One hundred thousand —
One hundred and fifty thousand —
Two hundred —
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