<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">At a Wayside Shrine</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">THE column halts before a wayside shrine</p><p class="line">To change formation into battle line</p><p class="line">From double file. 'Tis even, and the sun</p><p class="line">Its daily circling race has wellnigh done.</p><p class="line">Behind me in the West, a dying glow</p><p class="line">Of gold still gleams, to cast a pale halo</p><p class="line">Upon the shrine.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">How many men before</p><p class="line">To-night have halted at this spot, and wore</p><p class="line">The same grim, ready look that I see now</p><p class="line">Painted on every face from chin to brow.</p><p class="line">And in each eye? One and all are ready</p><p class="line">For come what may; each man now stands steady</p><p class="line">Waiting command.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">And now the line will pass</p><p class="line">The shrine—itself as steady as the mass</p><p class="line">Of England's sons slow moving to the fray.</p><p class="line">Their Destiny now in the hands of—say.</p><p class="line">The dim Divinity within that shrine—</p><p class="line">A loving God (the stricken Christ His sign</p><p class="line">Of Love)—or what?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">The shrine is rent and drilled</p><p class="line">With bullets—aye, and some of them have killed.</p><p class="line">Passing right thro' the thin mud walls, and past</p><p class="line">The Hanging Figure in the plaster cast,</p><p class="line">On to some human target, trudging by,</p><p class="line">(Dropping it low with sharp surprised cry)</p><p class="line">Even as I trudge by.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">So have some died</p><p class="line">For Right—bravely as Christ the Crucified</p><p class="line">Died on Calvary's Cross; just as brave</p><p class="line">And just as sacrificially. To save</p><p class="line">The world He died, or so the worn-out creeds</p><p class="line">Of Church would teach—but they^ but men, dared deeds</p><p class="line">And died as men.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">Because of Greater Love—</p><p class="line">That Love of Loves, all other loves above—</p><p class="line">The love of Home and Friends and Native Soil.</p><p class="line">That these might never be the Foeman's spoil,</p><p class="line">They gave their lives, their youth, their golden dreams</p><p class="line">And airy castles, built where Siyilight gleams.</p><p class="line">And Roses bloom</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">And gave them willingly</p><p class="line">As Christ gave His, that day on Calvary.</p><p class="line">A stricken Christ a broken shrine and men</p><p class="line">In khaki marching by. How little less</p><p class="line">Divine these khaki-clads in their worn dress</p><p class="line">Than He, the Christ of God? For in each man</p><p class="line">The same soul burns.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:20%">And ere I leave the shrine,</p><p class="line">I look upon the Christ—then at the line</p><p class="line">Of men back to His face and those closed eyes</p><p class="line">So open when one lingeringly looks</p><p class="line">As if into their depths. These men . . . those eyes</p><p class="line">Loving, pain-haunted eyes, hard gazing down</p><p class="line">They seem,</p><p class="line">On these—these other Christs in thin disguise</p><p class="line">Of khaki-brown.</p></div></body></html> · Great War