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THE REDEEMER Darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep; It was past twelve on a mid-winter night, When peaceful folk in beds lay snug asleep; There, with much work to do before the light, We lugged our clay-sucked boots at best we might Along the trench; sometimes a bullet sang, And droning shells burst with a hollow bang; We were soaked, chilled and wretched, every one; Darkness; the distant wink of a huge gun. I turned in the black ditch, loathing the storm; A rocket fizzed and burned with blanching flare; And lit the face of what had been a form Floundering in mirk. He stood before me there; I say that He was Christ; stiff in the glare, And leaning forward from Hid burdening task, Both arms supporting it; His eyes on mine Started from the woeful head that seemed a mask Of mortal pain in Hell's unholy shine. No thorny crown, only woollen cap He wore - an English soldier, white and strong, Who loved his...

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