42 The Ypres Times.
intact while the surrounding buildings were shattered, or if the shrines were touched at
all it was only, the building which suffered, and not the Cross."
A stretcher bearer writes
At the Church came in for a heavy bombardment whilst
we were there, and the Crucifix escaped damage, although the cure, a splendid priest,
was killed. But perhaps the most striking instance I have seen is just outside Ypres.
The Church has been absolutely wrecked, but again the Crucifix stands, reminding us
as we march by tired, perhaps wet and a bit fed up,' of Him who said, Greater love
hath no man than this,' etc.
The figure of Christ, during the bombardment at Etcrpigny, a few miles trom Peronne,
I saw with my own eyes immediately after the Germans had evacuated it. The village
Church was knocked about badly, but the Crucifix was uninjured, and the figure of Christ
intact hung from one hand the nail through the other had been dislodged. On the
altar table, which was splintered with six inches of dust on it, was the missal and breviary
of the good priest who remained to the last.
THE DESERTED GARDEN.
I love this garden, for you used to play
About its haunted shadows long ago
The years glide by in waves of blossom gay
And tides of jewelled snow.
Each summer brings the drowsy bees that doze
Among the lazy flowers till you return
Around your arbour the clematis grows,
And red carnations burn.
The silent trees remember, for they cast
Their form just where your footsteps seem to lag
The honeysuckle spreads its trailers fast,
And the old palings sag.
Nor do the pensive columbines forget,
Because they still unfold their little flowers
The fragrance of devotion lingers yet,
Across the listless hours.
t
Your spirit ever haunts my memory.
As some faint echo when the hour is late
The tall white hollyhocks wait dreamily
Beside the crooked gate.
The jessamine that twinkles in the light,
Still watches idly through the window-pane
While scented stocks do weave their spell each
In case you come again. [night,
Bivouac Farm, Ypres.
August19 77.
There is no stir the eager moments fly.
Breathless as embers dwindling in the gloom
No leaf dare fallthe shadows loiter by.
Like gnomes about my room.
Above the lattice where the roses cling,
The fire-flies dart as they did long ago
My heart would break if any bird should sing,
Or if the wind should blow.
ALASDAIR ALPIN MACGREGOR.
