In memory of NURSE CAVELL'S Noble Sacrifice
A cultured cavalcade of Death
Pass'd on to wend its tragic way,
All Nature sobb'd in anguished breath
That fateful morn at break of day.
The sombre radiance of the morn
Diffused its sympathetic light;
Grey clouds, as if to mercy born,
Look'd down and wonder'd at the sight.
Albion's fair daughter stood erect,
Arrayed in pity's noble mien,
And view'd the Kaiser's horde elect
Like a great early Christian Queen.
No thought of pomp and martial flame,
Ambition and world fleeting praise;
In mercy's uniform she came,
With Christ-like, tender, humble ways.
A sweet reflection of our Lord
Shone forth in that great act benign;
She died to save, and her reward
Is everlasting peace divine.
A stagger'd world gave forth a sob
Which rent its bleeding heart in twain,
That such a bloody deed should rob,
And leave an aching void of pain.
To lay one's life down for a friend
Is sacrifice beyond compare -
'Tis God in man, through Christ a blend
Of Calvary in love and prayer.
A prayer in action so profound,
That through eternity of space
'Twill thrill to unknown worlds around
The essence of all saving grace.
The days of Saints are with us yet
In noble acts, great and sublime;
Nurse Cavell we can ne'er forget,
Her name will live to end of time.
Immortal acts like those now shine
Like Beacon Lights, through gloom of war,
In rays of glorious light divine
On cruel deeds which we abhor.
Oh! Martyr of our Country's call,
Death could not kill thy living deed;
Before thy shrine we humbly fall,
For liberty thy soul was freed.
The spirit of her brave pure soul
Will stimulate each British heart
To reach victorious freedom's goal,
And emulate her glorious part.
The sting of death could not appall
Her dauntless soul, She lives to reign
In hearts of Britons - one and all:
Her sacrifice is not in vein.
Her blood was shed on freedom's bier,
A woman's blood for you and me.
Through din of war, men, can't you hear
Her voice - the voice of Liberty?
Wake up! my gallant little Wales,
Come forth and gird thy armour on.
Like rushing torrents from thy vales,
Sweep down, avenge those that are gone.
Arise! dear Britain, land of Freedom,
Let not this be to thy shame,
Smile the brutal hordes of Edom,
Strike for Justice, not for fame.
Fight for chivalry and honour,
For our women's hallowed place,
Fight 'gainst tyranny's oppression,
With the valour of our race.
Let us to the Holy City,
Climb the steeps of Zion's hill,
On to Galilee where Jesus
Whisper'd once His 'Peace be still.'
Oh may God in His great mercy
Once again those words repeat,
That the storms of War be silenced
In His peace be still complete.
Thomas Owen David
(Owain ap Japheth)