An Incident - Mary H. J. Anderson

An Incident

He was just a boy, as I could see,
          For he sat in the tent there close by me.
          I held the lamp with its flickering light,
    And felt the hot tears blur my sight
                As the doctor took the blood-stained bands
                    From both his brave, shell-shattered hands --
          His boy hands, wounded more pitifully
    Than Thine, O Christ, on Calvary.

            I was making tea in the tent where they,
      The wounded, came in their agony;
                            And the boy turned when his wounds were dressed,
              Held up his face like a child at the breast,
  Turned and held his tired face up,
          For he could not hold the spoon or cup,
        And I fed him....Mary, Mother of God,
            All women tread where thy feet have trod.

And still on the battlefield of pain
      Christ is stretched on His Cross again;
    And the Son of God in agony hands,
        Womanhood striving to ease His pangs.
  For each son of man is a son divine,
                Not just to the mother who calls him 'mine',
    As he stretches out his stricken hand,
        Wounded to death for the Mother Land

Mary H. J. Anderson