THE CRIMSON CROSS ELIZABETH BROWN DU BRIDGE

OUTSIDE the ancient city’s gate Upon Golgotha’s crest Three crosses stretched their empty arms, Etched dark against the west. And blood from nail-pierced hands and feet And tortured thorn-crowned head And thrust of hatred’s savage spear Had stained one dark cross red. Emblem of shame and pain and death It stood beside the way, But sign of love and hope and life We lift it high today. Where horror grips the stoutest heart, Where bursting shells shriek high, Where human bodies shrapnel scourged By thousands suffering lie; Threading the shambles of despair, Mid agony and strife, Come fleetest messengers who wear The crimson cross of life. To friend and foe alike they give Their strength and healing skill, For those who wear the crimson cross Must “do the Master’s will.” Can we, so safely sheltered here, Refuse to do our part? When some who wear the crimson cross Are giving life and heart To succor those who bear our flag, Who die that we may live— Shall we accept their sacrifice And then refuse to give? Ah, no! Our debt to God and man We can, we will fulfill, For we, who wear the crimson cross, Must “do the Master’s will.”