The boys and girls of England,
They bear the yoke of war.
They hear the noise of guns and bombs,
And a throbbing from afar,
That tells of planes now coming near,
To drop destruction death, and pain,
Of wounds and deathly, racking, awful fear.
These little ones who should be safe
And warm within their sheltered homes,
Now cower in shelters cold and damp,
In peril of life and home and health,
And evil done to them by stealth.
Lord out of all Thy stores of wealth,
Grant us Thy aid to win this war,
That in a new and better age,
Thy little ones shall dwell in Peace.
Thou saidst “Whoe’er offended these,
T’were better that a millstone hung about his neck,
And he were cast into the sea.”
Lord cast him out into the depths, without Thy aid.
Thy older children are afraid.
Have you read an introduction to May Hill & family (includes photographs) and explored ‘The Casualties Were Small’?