When an empty sleeve or a sightless eye <br />Or a legless form I see, <br />I breathe my thanks to my God on High <br />For His watchful care o'er me. <br />And I say to myself, as the cripple goes <br />Half stumbling on his way: <br />I may brag and boast, but that brother knows <br />Why the old flag floats to-day. <br /> <br />I think as I sit in my cozy den <br />Puffing one of my many pipes <br />That I've served with all of my fellow men <br />The glorious Stars and Stripes. <br />Then I see a troop in the faded blue <br />And a few in the dusty gray, <br />And I have to laugh at the deeds I do <br />For the flag that floats to-day. <br /> <br />I see men tangled in pointed wire, <br />The sport of the blazing sun, <br />Mangled and maimed by a leaden fire <br />As the tides of battle run, <br />And I fancy I hear their piteous calls <br />For merciful death, and then <br />The cannons cease and the darkness falls, <br />And those fluttering things are men. <br /> <br />Out there in the night they beg for death, <br />Yet the Reaper spurns their cries, <br />And it seems his jest to leave them breath <br />For their pitiful pleas and sighs. <br />And I am here in my cosy room <br />In touch with the joys of life, <br />I am miles away from the fields of doom <br />And the gory scenes of strife. <br /> <br />I never have vainly called for aid, <br />Nor suffered real pangs of thirst, <br />I have marched with life in its best parade <br />And never have seen its worst. <br />In the flowers of ease I have ever basked, <br />And I think as the Flag I see <br />How much of service from some it's asked, <br />How little of toil from me.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/easy-service/
