One of my favorite poets, Joyce Kilmer, fought in World War One.
At some point during the war, he wrote a poem titled “Prayer of a Soldier in France.”
At age thirty-one, on July 30, 1918, he died in action.
He had led a scouting party to find the position of a German machine gun. He had crawled to the edge of a little hill, where his comrades found him a while later. They thought he was alive and peering over the crest but realized a sniper bullet had pierced his brain. They buried him in the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery and Memorial in France.
He had been assigned to be a statistician but desired to be more involved in the fighting. He transferred to the military intelligence section of his regiment in April 1918. He was killed in July.
This poem offers a comparison between soldiers suffering and what Christ suffered for humanity.
1 My shoulders ache beneath my pack
2 (Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
3 I march with feet that burn and smart
4 (Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
5 Men shout at me who may not speak
6 (They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
7 I may not lift a hand to clear
8 My eyes of salty drops that sear.
9 (Then shall my fickle soul forget
10 Thy agony of Bloody Sweat?)
11 My rifle hand is stiff and numb
12 (From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).
13 Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
14 Than all the hosts of land and sea.
15 So let me render back again
16 This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.
This poem is a glimpse into the thought process of an American soldier who desires to keep freedom alive.
to those who didn’t come home,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 