August 1914

The sun rose over the sweep of the hill

    All bare for the gathered hay,

And a blackbird sang by the window-sill,

    And a girl knelt down to pray:

          ‘Whom Thou hast kept through the night, O Lord,

          Keep Thou safe through the day.’

 

The sun rose over the shell-swept height,

     The guns are over the way,

And a soldier turned from the toil of the night

    To the toil of another day,

          And a bullet sang by the parapet

          To drive in the new-turned clay.

 

The sun sank slow by the sweep of the hill,

     They had carried all the hay,

And a blackbird sang by the window-sill,

    And a girl knelt down to pray:

          ‘Keep Thou safe through the night, O Lord,

          Whom Thou hast kept through the day.’

 

The sun sank slow by the shell-swept height,

    The guns had prepared a way,

And a soldier turned to sleep that night

    Who would not wake for the day,

          And a blackbird flew from the window-sill,

          When a girl knelt down to pray.