Sister, for the tears that thou hast shed,
Sister, for thy dear undying dead,
For the sons thou hast not grudged to give,
Loyally, that Liberty might live;
Sister, for the little child
Dead beside a hearth defiled--
Do I dream my love alone
Can atone?
Can I bring again the brave that fell
When thy heaven crumbled into hell?
Can I banish from before thine eyes
Haunting visions under haggard skies?
Blazing home and blackened plain,
Can I make them fair again?
Can I ever heal thy smart,
Broken Heart?
Sister, we be women, thou and I;
Sorrow's craving who can satisfy?
None may pay thee back so dear a loss,
Only let me help to bear thy cross.
Sick and hungry in their need
Let me succour, let me feed;
Little Sister, freely take
For their sake.
* * * * *
Illustration: "'HE'S AS WILLING AS A CHRISTIAN; STRIKE ME BLIND IF HE
ISN'T', SAID SIKES."
_Oliver Twist_, Chap. xvi.
(_With apologies to the late Fred Barnard._)
* * * * *