Volume 147 — BRITAIN TO BELGIUM.
Reading edition
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.
"'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.)