• harveyvickie

A Soldiers Prayer

Woke with a start - unsettled sleep, the morning light began to creep, tired and weary familiar men, waiting for war to start again.

A young man stumbled, as though blind, like some poor wretch who'd lost his mind, Clutching a Bible in his hand, stared bleakly out to no man's land.

I sat beside him in that trench, the pouring rain began to drench, it almost washed his soul away, I watched him as he knelt to pray.

'Abide with me today dear Lord, give me the strength to wield my sword, as new day dawns the guns may cease, I'm grateful for the calm and peace'.

The soldier stood, looked to his God, and said, 'Dear Lord this path I've trod, was not the way of life I chose... to kill mankind, although my foes.

Yes, I was angry with my foe, my hate was strong, my wrath did grow, until I saw those sons so brave, lying face down in shallow grave.

If I should fall in foreign land, then come to me, reach for my hand, and take me to a better place, that I might look upon your face.

And so dear Lord - to you I pray, don't let this be our judgement day, but bring us love and peace instead... let England mourn - bury her dead.'

I never saw that lad again, I looked for him but searched in vain, for we were all caught on the hop and then were ordered o'er the top!

Then five years on - in civvy street, one day by chance I got to meet, the soldier who had prayed that day, one of the few who got away.

Went to the cafe, ordered tea, he said how he remembered me, took off his coat, revealed much more, of the Vicar's collar that he wore.

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