The Stretcher-Bearer

My stretcher is one scarlet stain,      And as I tries to scrape it clean,      I tell you wot - I'm sick with pain      For all I've 'eard, for all I've seen;      Around me is the 'ellish night,      And as the war's red rim I trace,      I wonder if in 'Eaven's height,      Our God don't turn away 'Is Face.      I don't care 'oose the Crime may be;      I 'olds no brief for kin or clan;      I 'ymns no 'ate: I only see      As man destroys his brother man;      I waves no flag: I only know,      As 'ere beside the dead I wait,      A million 'earts is weighed with woe,      A million 'omes is desolate.      In drippin' darkness, far and near,      All night I've sought them woeful ones.      Dawn shudders up and still I 'ear      The crimson chorus of the guns.      Look! like a ball of blood the sun      'Angs o'er the scene of wrath and wrong. . . .      "Quick! Stretcher-bearers on the run!"      O PRINCE OF PEACE! 'OW LONG, 'OW LONG?