Poems (Kennedy)/Going to France
GOING TO FRANCE
I HOLD his hand and look into his eyes— My son grown to a man;The gulf of time back to his babyhood My swift thoughts span.
I reared him to his splendid youth, Playing my game with Chance,And now—dear Lord, hold close my faith! He goes away to France.
I know that France is fair and wide, A land of wonder dreams,But just an altar white and cold Unto my soul it seems—
An altar of high sacrifice For hearts like mine,And, as God's stars in far-off space, Its tapers shine.
And on that altar there are laid— Through tears that blind—A million sacrificial hearts Of mothers left behind.
And so it is I hold his hand And lift up prayerful eyesThat God will save my boy from share In that great sacrifice.