Dear God, when zero time arrives
And I am in the killing stunt,
To take perhaps a dozen lives,
Or I myself to get the shunt,
Forgive me if the chaps I cop
Have something of your love in them;
And when we all meet up on top,
Temper my D.C.M.*
Dear God, if I should be napooed*,
Sent straight to walk the Milky Way,
I’ll walk it better if you should
Give me a little grace to-day.
A prayer need not contain one word,
And, somehow, when I think of Christ,
A lonely road seems so absurd,
He’ll meet me at the tryst.
The nations all are up in arms,
Millions of blighters shooting some;
The star-turns have mislaid their charms,
The mock-heroic harps are dumb.
It is a rotten business, and
This lad, who never was a saint,
Sighs softly for your promised land,
But takes care not to faint.
I have an instinct in my wit,
Something beyond the pride of race,
I have to do this little bit
To make the world a better place.
So when the barrage lifts, and I
Go out for hits by shells and things,
Make it an easy job to die,
And give my spirit wings.
*District Court Martial