This Memorial Day

Prayer of a Soldier in France

My 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.

About Joyce Kilmer (1886 - 1918).

When the United States entered the war, Kilmer went to an officers' training camp, but he soon enlisted as a private in the 7th Regiment of the New York National Guard and later transferred to the 165th Regiment. (He began writing a historical account of his regiment in France, but it was unfinished when he was killed.) Unwilling to take time to undergo officer training, he was proud of his rise to the rank of sergeant. His letters show him to be an earnest and enthusiastic soldier, welcoming new experiences. There is sadness but also acceptance in the declamatory lines of "Rouge Bouquet":

There is on earth no worthier grave
To hold the bodies of the brave
Than this place of pain and pride
Where they nobly fought and nobly died.

His Catholicism and painful wartime experiences combined to produce some of his best verse in "Prayer of a Soldier in France," a poem through which the reader may painfully stagger with Kilmer and Christ along the via dolorosa of World War I:

My 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).

Volunteering to take the place of a slain officer during an attack on the hills above the Ourcq, Kilmer went out to scout machine-gun nests. On 30 July 1918, he was found dead with an enemy bullet through his head. For his bravery he was buried beside officers, mentioned in dispatches, and posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre. He was survived by his wife, Aline (who became a minor poet), and four children.

For all those who have sacrificed their bodies, minds and souls for the ideals of this country, I thank you.