Christ and the Soldier
by Siegfried Sassoon (1916)
I
The straggled soldier halted -- stared at
Him -- Then clumsily dumped down upon
his knees, Gasping
"O blessed crucifix, I'm beat !"
And Christ, still sentried by the seraphim,
Near the front-line, between two
splintered trees, Spoke him:
"My son, behold these hands and feet."
The soldier eyed him upward, limb by
limb, Paused at the Face, then muttered,
"Wounds like these Would shift a bloke to
Blighty just a treat !"
Christ, gazing downward, grieving and
ungrim, Whispered,
"I made for you the mysteries, Beyond all
battles moves the Paraclete."
II
The soldier chucked his rifle in the dust,
And slipped his pack, and wiped his neck,
and said --
"O Christ Almighty, stop this bleeding
fight !"
Above that hill the sky was stained like
rust With smoke. In sullen daybreak
flaring red The guns were thundering
bombardment's blight. The soldier cried,
"I was born full of lust, With hunger,
thirst, and wishfulness to wed. Who cares
today if I done wrong or right?"
Christ asked all pitying,
"Can you put no trust In my known word
that shrives each faithful head ? Am I not
resurrection, life and light ?"
III
Machine-guns rattled from below the hill;
High bullets flicked and whistled through
the leaves; And smoke came drifting from
exploding shells.
Christ said
"Believe; and I can cleanse your ill. I have
not died in vain between two thieves; Nor
made a fruitless gift of miracles."
The soldier answered,
"Heal me if you will, Maybe there's
comfort when a soul believes In mercy,
and we need it in these hells. But be you
for both sides ? I'm paid to kill And if I
shoot a man his mother grieves. Does
that come into what your teaching tells ?"
A bird lit on the Christ and twittered gay;
Then a breeze passed and shook the
ripening corn. A Red Cross waggon
bumped along the track. Forsaken Jesus
dreamed in the desolate day -- Uplifted
Jesus, Prince of Peace forsworn -- An
observation post for the attack.
"Lord Jesus, ain't you got no more to
say ?"
Bowed hung that head below the crown
of thorns. The soldier shifted, and picked
up his pack, And slung his gun, and
stumbled on his way.
"O God," he groaned,"why ever was I
born ?"
... The battle boomed, and no reply came
back.