Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3826/Britain to Belgium

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Sister, for the tears that thou hast shed,Sister, for thy dear undying dead, For the sons thou hast not grudged to give, Loyally, that Liberty might live; Sister, for the little child Dead beside a hearth defiled—Do I dream my love alone    Can atone?
Can I bring again the brave that fell When thy heaven erumbled into hell? Can I banish from before thine eyes Haunting visions under haggard skies? Blazing home and blackened plain, Can I make them fair again? Can I ever heal thy smart,    Broken Heart?
Sister, we be women, thou and I;Sorrow's craving who can satisfy? None may pay thee back so dear a loss, Only let me help to bear thy cross. Sick and hungry in their need Let me succour, let me feed; Little Sister, freely take    For their sake.

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