To W. H. JUDKINS.

White Ribbon, Volume 18, Issue 208, 18 October 1912, Page 11

To W. H. JUDKINS.

(The doctors said he should rest ; it vas his oiil\ chance.) lie could not rest, our hero >f a hundred lights ; lie could not rest, for through the midnight silence I Its k(*en ear heard the world s deep groan of sorrow . \nd oft mid tie* shadows ot a summer’s eve The cry came up until his loving heart was crushed with moan of helpless agony. Then (• od, in Mail, arose, fearless and true ; Mis cause was <»od s, then no tear had la*. \mong the howling mobs of frenzied teo'.s Straight out and true he Hung his arrow oIT, Winged with a conscience that his cause was just. “ Thrice armed was he !” Speak not of heroes on a battlefield, enllamed with lust of blood , Our hero fought to save, giving h s life's hio<si, yea drop b\ drop. To st(*m thi* tidi* of human misery. The cr\ of helpless children. o f whitehaired mothers, deterteil wives, These were the lieacons that lured him on ; No c »ioured tbigs, r. i bronzed metal clasps, v o nation's plaudits —none were his. Not once he rested, for through his suffering body, ott racked with pain. He h«*ard the cry “ The Night is coming.” So thus he laboured on “ until the* morning b»oke, “ \nd <Jod called him lloir.e. —ISABELLE 111 SLOP.