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More Songs by the Fighting Men
On a Girl killed by German Shrapnel
IT is not much: one child the less to sing
Her passage through the hours;
One girl the less to greet the coming spring,
And pluck the summer's flow'rs.
It is not much: one little coffin made
And one more little shroud.
One hush the more within the room's dark shade,
One less word said aloud.
It is not much: one prayer the less to God,
From Whom all prayers have birth,
One scar the more across the fresh green sod,
One shovel more of earth.
It is not much: yet could it have been more?
God thinks the same of such,
As of the proudest hero killed in war:—
Who says it is not much?
France, July, 1917.
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