The Great War

from Late Songs, an electronic edition

The Prayer

She drew the grey shawl round her head;

"Sure it is bitter cold," she said;

"An' is there news of him, asthore?"

God help the mothers of the world!

"I do be prayin' to mesel'

The Lord may keep him safe and well

An' bring him back to his mother's door."

God help the mothers of the world!

"The lambs are perished wid the storm.

God keep his darlin' head from harm!

It's well for her has ne'er a one!"

God help the mothers of the world!

And as I went my way I heard

Her call like a lamenting bird:

"I used to fret that had no son."

God help the mothers of the world!