The Recruit

His face was drawn, yet very young;
Upon the board he gazed for long.
His clothes were rags, his boots were done, 
Of home ‘twas plain that he had none.
To any passing by beholder
‘Twas plain the rifle he would shoulder.

The victim looked around, above,
For help divine or human love,
Though desperation urged him on,
A greater fear bade him begone.
But hesitation’s dead’ning spell
Hung o’er his limbs, rang his death knell.

That over-dressed and well-fed man, 
The spider sergeant, smiling ran
to greet the lad and out of breath 
He offered food and fire—for Death.

God! I would rather rot and damn 
My soul than be that smiling man.

CLARA GILBERT COLE

The Workers’ Dreadnought September 23, 1922