I
Within the walls of this cool, tranquil place
Lie wounded men from Northern battlefields;
With shattered limb, with wan and pain-streaked faces.
Safely they rest; they whom the Red Cross shields,
The roar of gun, the shriek of bomb and shell,
The shrapnel hissing through the awful din,
Are silenced here. A nearby chapel bell
Strikes the calm hours. Quietly within
The restful rooms the men lift up their eyes,
To that small crimson cross afloat in peaceful skies.