And who are you?

A sight in camp in the daybreak grey and dim,

As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,

As slow I walk in the cool fresh air

the path near by the hospital tent,

Three forms I see on stretchers lying,

brought out there untended lying,

Over each the blanket spread,

ample brownish woollen blanket,

Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand,

Then with light fingers I

from the face of the nearest,

the first, just lift the blanket;

Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim,

with well-grey'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?

Who are you my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step -

and who are you my child and darling?

Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third - a face nor child nor old,

very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;

Young man I think I know you -

I think this face is the face of Christ Himself,

Dead and divine and brother of all,

and here again He lies.