The Soldier

Yes. Whý do we áll, séeing of a soldier, bless him? bléss
Our redcoats, our tars? Both thése being, the greater part,
But frail clay, nay but foul clay. Hére it is: the heart,°
Since, proud, it calls the calling manly, gives a guess
That, hopes that, mákesbelieve, the men must be no less;
It fancies, feigns, deems, déars the artist after his art;°
And fain will find as sterling all as all is smart
And scarlet wéar the spirit of war thére express.
Mark Christ our King. He knows war, served this soldiering through;°
He of all can reave a rope best. There he bides in bliss
Now, and seeing somewhere some man do all that man can do,
For love he léans forth, needs his neck must fall on, kiss,
And cry ‘O Christ-done deed! So God-made-flesh does too:°
Were I come o'er again’ cries Christ ‘it should be this.’
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