High Cost

See! yonder hint of flick’ring light
Across the barren field of death?
’Tis candle, lit by young lad bright
To write to those whom he has left.

‘Ere this dread war had yet begun,
That fellow there had land and wealth
And left it all behind him, gone
Abroad to face the hand of Death.

And we, in this dark trench of earth
Are meant to slay those weary souls
Who have, as we, their feasts, and mirth,
And fam’lies young, and fathers old.

Take heed, you rulers of great lands
Where forth you send your sons to die;
Why thus must they, with sword in hand,
In strange ground foreign ever lie?