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.