POETRY.

"DIED OF WOUNDS."

I DON'T know why you look so frightened, dear.

What, mother, what? You say I'm looking queer?

I'm quite all right, only I'm drenched and cold.

The old mare chucked me in the pond. I told Tom Darby's boy to catch her, and walked home.

Jack, if you grin I'll punch your head. Now come, I'll have a tub and change; then let's hare tea And some of Delly's jam. I can't quite see

You clearly, and the clock does tick so loud—

And why the dickens are you in a cloud?

What did you say? What's that? "The Major's goneP- Damned Roches ! "—Who's that groaning?—" Only one?"

Only one what?—She's caught on Dixie farm!

I say, I can't get up; my side's all warm

And sticky, but my feet are beastly cold—

It's blood !—Who'd have the old mare sold?— Hark ! Hear the wind awhistling in the trees; I sheet bike home in this infernal breeze.

Why, you're a padre. What's your name? I've seen Your—" Doesn't matter"!—Yes, it does. I've been

Hard hit, you said.—Capper of Corpus! Cap— Capper of Corpus! Why, the very chap !

I'm jolly glad. Don't lift me; let me try— The water bottle's smashed. I'm jolly dry.

What's that? "It's hopeless, leave the rest to you; You'll see it out?" Capper of Corpus do- " Which art in Heaven "—yes. " Thy will be done "- Capper of Corpus, but I'm not your son? Don't bother, I'm so comfy. Mother, Jack, So jolly tired; do-turn me on my back— So jolly tired. "Our daily bread. Forgive As we forgive them," But if I don't live? Do I remember?—" Vs from evil "—yes.

Good Lord; why, padre, you've got in a mess You're badly hit; your hands are both pierced through, And bleeding, too ! Why ! what's that Light as though Your hair's on fire? I—Tesu Mercy, save !

As we do them forgive, I pardon crave Thy hands upon my brow, unworthy I.

Thanks be to God; thanks be to God. I die !

H. W. P. Dunn.