| Prayer of a Soldier in France |
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My shoulders ache beneath my pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
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I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
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Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
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I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.
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(Then shall my fickle soul forget
Thy Agony of Bloody Sweat?)
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My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).
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Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
Than all the hosts of land and sea.
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So let me render back again
This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.
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