I CANNA see ye, lad, I canna see ye, <br />For a' yon glory that's aboot yer heid, <br />Yon licht that haps ye, an the hosts that's wi ye, <br />Aye, but ye live, an it's mysel that's deid! <br />They gaed frae mill an mart; frae wind-blawn places, <br />An grey toon-closes; i' the empty street <br />Nae mair the bairns ken their steps, their faces, <br />Nor stand to listen to the trampin feet. <br />Beside the brae, an souchin throu the rashes, <br />Yer voice comes back to me at ilka turn, <br />Amang the whins, an whaur the watter washes <br />The arn-tree wi its feet amangst the burn. <br />Whiles ye come back to me when day is fleein, <br />An a' the road oot-by is dim wi nicht, <br />But weary een like mine is no for seein, <br />An, gin they saw, they wad be blinnd wi licht. <br />Daith canna kill. The muils o France lie ower ye, <br />An yet ye live, O sodger o the Lord! <br />For Him that focht wi daith an duil afore ye, <br />He gied the life - 'twas Him that gied the sword. <br />But gin ye see my face or gin ye hear me, <br />I daurna ask, I maunna seek to ken, <br />Tho I should dee, wi sic a glory near me, <br />By nicht or day, come ben, my bairn, come ben!<br /><br />Violet Jacob<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/glory-14/
