Julian Grenfell

Fighting in mud, we turn to Thee, In these dread times of battle, Lord. To keep us safe, if so may be, From shrapnel, snipers, shell, and sword. But not on us, for we are men Of meaner clay, who fight in clay, but on the Staff, the Upper Ten, Depends the issue of the Day. The staff is working with its brains, While we are sitting in the trench; The Staff the universe ordains (subject to Thee and General French). God help the staff-especially The young ones, many of them sprung From our high aristocracy; Their task is hard, and they are young. O Lord, who mad'st all things to be, And madest some things very good, Please keep the Extra A.D.C. From horrid scenes, and sight of blood. See that his eggs are newly laid, Not tinged as some of them-with green; And let no nasty draughts invade The windows of his Limousine. When he forgets to buy the bread, When there are no more minerals, Preserve his smooth well-oiled head From wrath of caustic Generals. O Lord, who mad'st all things to be, And hatest nothing thou has made, Please keep the Extra A.D.C Out of the sun and in the shade.

The naked earth is warm with Spring, And with green grass and bursting trees Leans to the sun's gaze glorying, And quivers in the sunny breeze; And life is Colour and Warmth and Light, And a striving evermore for these; And he is dead who will not fight, And who dies fighting has increase. The fighting man shall from the sun Take warmth, and life from glowing earth; Speed with the light-foot winds to run And with the trees to newer birth; And find, when fighting shall be done, Great rest, and fulness after dearth. All the bright company of Heaven Hold him in their bright comradeship, The Dog star, and the Sisters Seven, Orion's belt and sworded hip: The woodland trees that stand together, They stand to him each one a friend; They gently speak in the windy weather; They guide to valley and ridges end. The kestrel hovering by day, And the little owls that call by night, Bid him be swift and keen as they, As keen of ear, as swift of sight. The blackbird sings to him: "Brother, brother, If this be the last song you shall sing, Sing well, for you may not sing another; Brother, sing." In dreary doubtful waiting hours, Before the brazen frenzy starts, The horses show him nobler powers; — O patient eyes, courageous hearts! And when the burning moment breaks, And all things else are out of mind, And only joy of battle takes Him by the throat and makes him blind, Through joy and blindness he shall know, Not caring much to know, that still Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so That it be not the Destined Will. The thundering line of battle stands, And in the air Death moans and sings; But Day shall clasp him with strong hands, And Night shall fold him in soft wings.