How grand it is to be tired in working for Jesus! To lay our head on the pillow at night worn out by a hard day’s work for our dear Master, with the knowledge that we have not spared ourselves, but have toiled and borne the heat and burden of the day to prove our love. A sweet, consoling thought that makes us long for the morning light to put our love to a further test.
January 9, 2015
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on Thoughts for January 9 from Fr Willie Doyle.
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I wonder if Joyce Kilmer the poet ever met Fr. Doyle?
M Y shoulders ache beneath my pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.
(Then shall my fickle soul forget
Thy agony of Bloody Sweat?)
My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).
Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
Than all the hosts of land and sea.
So let me render back again
This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.
“Prayer of a Soldier in France” was originally published in Joyce Kilmer. Ed. Robert Cortes Holliday. New York: Kennikat Press, 1918.
MORE POEMS BY JOYCE KILMER
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