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This is a poem written by Clara Barton
(1821-1912). She was the founder and
first president of the American Red Cross.
Clara went to the front lines of the American
Civil War under difficult conditions. Later she
worked to get the United States of America
to authorize an organization to help in times
of war or disaster.
The "scarlet cross" mentioned in
the poem
is the red cross of the emblem adopted
by the American Red Cross and used on
flags flown by the organization.
Clara Barton was not known for her poetry,
but I feel certain she would want this particular
poem to be known and understood by many
more people. I have put it into a script format
to be enacted by students in their study of
either the American Civil War or the formation
and history of the American Red Cross.
(Suggestion: Look up "Henri Dunant" as well
as "Clara Barton," and notice any
references to the "American
Amendment.")
This poem's words shed light on
the horrors of war, the need for
compassion and assistance, and
the role of women in the world.
Eve Adam, a.k.a. Harmonic Eve,
December 29, 2007
Script for Ten Readers
(Copies can be made from a computer's
printer and distributed. Some readers may
read more than one part.)
(First
reader's 14 lines)
The women who went
To the field, you say,
The women who went
To the field; and pray
What did they go for?
Just to be in the way!
They'd not know the difference
Between work and play.
What did they know
About war anyway?
What could they do?
Of what use could they be?
They would scream at the sight
(Second Reader's 16 lines)
Just fancy them around
Where the bugle notes play,
And the long roll is bidding us
On to the fray.
Imagine their skirts
Among artillery wheels,
And watch for their flutter
As they flee 'cross the fields
When the charge is rammed
home
And the fire belches hot;
They never will wait
For the
answering shot.
They would faint at the first
Drop of
blood in their sight.
What fun for us boys!
(Ere we enter the fight.)
(Third Reader's 8 lines)
They might pick some lint,
And tear up some sheets,
And make us some jellies,
And send on their sweets,
And knit some soft socks
For Uncle Sam's shoes,
And write us some letters,
And tell us the news.
(Fourth reader's 8 lines)
And thus it was settled,
By common consent,
That husbands, or brothers,
Or whoever went;
That the place for the women
Was in their own homes,
There to patiently wait
Until victory comes.
(Fifth
Reader's 26 lines)
But later, it chanced,
Just how, no one knew,
That the lines slipped a bit---
Some began to crowd through.
And they went -- where did
they go?
Ah, where did they not?
Show us the battle,
The field, or the spot
Where the groans of the wounded
Rang out on the air
That her ear caught it not,
And her hand was not there.
Who wiped the death sweat
From the cold clammy brow,
And sent home the message,
"'Tis well with him now"?
Who watched in the tents,
Whilst the fever fires burned,
And the pain-tossing limbs
In agony turned,
And wet the parched tongue,
Calmed delirium's strife
'Till the dying lips murmured,
"My Mother," "My Wife"!
And who were they all?
They were many, my men.
(Sixth Reader's 42 lines)
Their record was kept
By no tabular pen;
They exist in traditions,
From father to son.
Who recalls, in dim memory,
Now here and there one?
A few names were writ,
And by chance live today,
But's a perishing record
Fast fading away.
Of those we recall,
There are scarcely a score:
Dix, Dame, Bickerdyke, Edson,
Harvey, and Moore,
Fales, Wittenmyer, Gilson,
Safford and Lee,
And poor Cutter, dead
In the sands of the sea.
And Frances D. Gage,
Our "Aunt Fanny" of old,
Whose voice rang for freedom
When freedom was sold.
And Husband, and Etheridge,
And Harlan and Case,
Livermore, Alcott,
Hancock, and Chase.
And Turner, and Hawley,
And Potter, and Hall.
Ah! The list grows apace,
As they come at the call.
Did these women quail
At the sight of a gun?
Will some soldier tell us
Of one he saw run?
Will he glance at the boats
On the great western flood?
At Pittsburgh and Shiloh,
Did they faint at the blood?
And the brave wife of Grant
Stood there with them then,
And her calm, stately presence
Gave strength to his men.
(Seventh Reader's 24 lines)
And Marie of Logan;
She went with them too;
A bride, scarcely more
Than a sweetheart, 'tis true.
Her young cheek grows pale
When the bold troopers ride.
Where the "Black Eagle" soars,
She is close at his side.
She staunches his blood,
Cools the fever-burnt breath,
And the wave of her hand
Stays the Angel of Death.
She nurses him back,
And restores once again,
To both army and state,
The brave leader of men.
She has smoothed his black plumes
And laid them to sleep
Whilst the angels above them,
Their high vigils keep.
And she sits here alone,
With the snow on her brow.
Your cheers for her comrades!
Three cheers for her now!
(Eighth Reader's 20 lines)
And these were the women
Who went to the war.
The women of question,
What did they go for?
Because in their hearts
God had planted the seed
Of pity for woe,
And help for its need.
They saw, in high purpose,
A duty to do,
And the armor of right
Broke the barriers through.
Uninvited, unaided,
Unsanctioned oft times,
With pass, or without it,
They pressed on the lines.
They pressed, they implored,
Till they ran the lines through,
And this was the "running"
The men saw them do.
(Ninth Reader's 12 lines)
'Twas a hampered work,
Its worth largely lost.
'Twas hindrance, and pain,
And effort, and cost.
But through these came knowledge;
Knowledge is power.
And never again
In the deadliest hour
Of war or of peace,
Shall we be so beset
To accomplish the purpose
Our spirits have met.
(Tenth Reader's 12 lines)
And what would they do
If war came again?
The scarlet cross floats
Where all was blank then.
They would bind on their "brassards"
And march to the fray,
And the man liveth not
Who could say to them nay.
They would stand with you now,
As they stood with you then,
The nurses, consolers,
And saviors of men.
by Clara Barton (1821-1912)
presented in script form by
Eve Adam, a.k.a. Harmonic Eve
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| Clara Barton, an Angel of the Battlefield |
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| Website by Eve Adam, a.k.a. Harmonic Eve |
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