SELECTED POETRY

Evening Star, Issue 16624, 5 January 1918, Page 12

SELECTED POETRY

AN EAGLE STIRS. The.tyrant spake: "I am tho Friend of God! Yea, God's lieutenant, hammer of His wrath I 1 will chastise you witts an iron rod; Through quivering mffikms will I how mj path. four ancient haunts of peace shall reek of blood, Famine and plague and fire shall fill jour halls; Mother and babe Til trample in the mud, Horror shall follow where my footstep falls. You shall be gorged with sorrow for your, meat,. Drunken with tears; my yoke upon your necks Shall how you till you grovel at my feet, Yea, and aoC-laim me Impesaiw Hex! &Vop a moited of skulls I'll sear my throne, Humanity shall shudder at my nod; And I will reign omnipotent, alone! ' 10, I have spoken! I, the Friend of God!" ******* But hark! a rustling asoosf s mighty wings. Was it an eagle in his eyrie stirred? And hark I a voice, as when a nation sings, And heaven's caverns echo to the word! " Thou man of woman born, enough! Atone I My soul is sickened with tho stench of wars. Boaster, who call'st the firmament thine own, Athwart thy firmament I fling my stars! The stars once fought 'gainst Sisera of old; Thou, King of rapine, (Emperor of death, • My stars against thee are arrayed! Behold, I draw my sword and oast away lie sheath! Not vain the mother's and tbe-babe's appeal; Not vain the moan of the unnumbered dead! Thou, loathly worm, hast bruised the Old World's heel— At Freedom's call I rise to bruise thy head I I have been patient, I have held my hand, I have endured, yea, to the eleventh hour; Mow,l awake! and here I bid thee stand, Matching thy lust of hate against love's pow'rl Not against nations, worm, but against thee, Worm, who usurpest God's prerogative, m fight and fight, till all the world be free; I'll fight and die, that all the world may live!" * » » » " * * # Sons of Great Britain, let us not forget We fight as brothers, brothers as we are! Oh, sons of France, brave sons of Lafayette, Come! win the war. Cornel make an end of war! !Fbat, when this tyranny is overpast, When swords are turned to reaping-hooks again, Did World and New World may be one at ■ :; last— One great, new, warless world, where Love shall reign! Loots N. Pakkkr. WAE! WAR! WAR! Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of war I Oyer the gorse and the golden dells, Ringing and swinging of clamorous bells, Praying and saying of wild farewells— War! War! War! High and low, all must go; Hark to tho shout of war! Leave to tie women the harvest yield; Gird ye, men, for the sinister field; A. sabre instead of a scythe to wield— Warl Red war! Rich and poor, lord and boor. Hark to the blast of war! Tinker _ and tailor and millionaire, Actor in triumph and priest in prayer, Comrades now in the hell out there, Sweep to the fire of war! Prince and page, sot and sage, Hark to the roar of war! Poet, professor, and circus clown, Chinjney sweeper, and fop o' the town, Into the pot and be melted down, Into the pot of war. Women all, hear the call, The pitiless call of warl Look your last on your dearest ones, Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons, Swift they go to the ravenous guns, The gluttonous guns of war. i-iFrom ths 'Congressional Record' (TJ.SjA.).

NEXT MORNING. To-day the sun shines bright, The skies are fair; ? There is,a delicate freshness in the air, * Which, liko a nimble sprite, . Doth play upon my cheek and lift my hair. And as I look about ine, lo! I see a world I do not know! As though some soft celestial beam, Some clean and wholesome grace . Had purged half the horror of the place To a strange beauty. Was, it, then, a dream, That ghostly march' but yesternight Beneath the moon's uncertain light, When ohill at heart we picked our way Through dreadful, 6ilent tilings, that lay About our, path on either hand? ; Was it a dream? Is this the self-same land, The land we pass'd through then? : How strange it seems! Let tis the semol I see from here the path by which wo came, The tumbled soil, the shattered trow are ] there; And there, in desolation sleeping, Almost too pitiful for weeping, The little village, once the home of men! Aye, the whole scene is there. As desperate in its abandonment. As melancholy-wild and savage-bare As then. But somehow in this warm, bright air It all seems different! The same, ojkl yet I know it not! Thus much I see. But there's a spot ' That's liidden from mine eyes. Behind the ruin'd church it lies, Where gaping vaults beneath the nave Have made a dreadful kind of cave; And there, before the cavern's mouth A dark and stagnant pool is spread, So silent and so'still I • I saw it last i' tho pale moonlight; And I could think that shapes uncouth Crept from that cave at dead of night With ghoulish stealth,- to feast their'fill Upon the pale and huddled deadl Yet now. Haply, beneath this warm sunlight. Even that fearsome pool is bright Under the cavern's brow! So outward-fair, that few might guess The secret of its loathsomeness, Nor know what nameless things are done There, with the setting of the "sun! ] —E. A. Wodehousf. (Second Lieutennnt Scots \ Guards), iu ' Fortnightly Review.' BLEST BE THE TIE THAT BINDS. Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love. The fellowship of kindred minds ] Is like to that above. r Before our Father's throne We pour our ardent prayers; Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one. Our comforts and our cares. We share our mutual woes. Our mutual burdens bear; And often for each other flows The sympathising tear. When we asunder partIt gives us inward pain: But we shall still be joined in heart. And hope to meet again. ; This glorious hope revives Our courage by the way: While each in expectation lives, 1 And longs to see the day. ( From sorrow, care, and pain, , And sin we shall be free; And perfect love and friendship reign \ Through all eternity. John Fawcett. • THE DOVE OF PEACE. t (Rossetti Revised.) ( The Blessed Dove of Peace leaned out From her high perch at even: i She dodged some bombs and aeroplanes l - Upon the path of heaven; | > One starry eye was batted down. | < And her feathers numbered seven. . "I wish that they would stop the fight— \ For they will stop," she said; "Did I not. protest something- fierce? Lord, Lord! The notes I made! * Are not three years a perfect age To hang around?" she prayed. ( She paused and listened; ducked again (From shot and shell to shrink). "All this must oease," she mildly spake— 1 "But when? Just let me think." < And then her game eye opened wide ; And closed; I saw her wink. i

<mEMINJDaaS-DAMIES. In silks and satins the ladies went Where the breezes sighed and the poplars . bent, Taking the air of a Sunday morn 'Midst the redr of poppies and gold of corn— Flowery ladies in gold brocades, With negro pages and serving maids, In scarlet ooaoh or in gilt sedan, With brooch and buckle and flounce end fan, Patch and powder and trailing scent, Under the trees the ladies went— Lovely ladies that gleamett and glowed As they took the air on the Ladies' Road. Boom of thunder and lightning flash— The torn earth rocks to the barrage crash; Tho bullets whine and the bullets sing From the mod machine guns chattering; Black smoke rolling across the mud;, Trenches plastered with flesh and blood— The blue ranks look with the ranks of gray, Stab and stagger and sob and sway; The living cringe from the shrapnel bursts, The dying moan of their burning thirsts, •Moan and die in the gulping slough—where are the butterfly ladies now? / —Patlander, in ' Punch.' TRIBUTE TO ENGLAND'S DEATHLESS DEAD. They need no dirge, for Springtime fills " All things with tribute unto them; The music of the daffodils Shall bo a soldier's requiem Among a thousand hills. Blow, golden trumpets, mournfully, For all tho golden youth that's fled, - For all the shattered dreams that lie Where God has laid the quiet dead Under an alien sky. But blow triumphant music, too, Across tho world, from sea to sea, Because the heart of youth was true, Because our England proved to be Even greater than we knew. —Mildred Hurley, in the London 'Spectator.' THE LEAVEN OF WAR. I used to think a man must sail To some heroic laud Beyond the grip of metal rail, Tho silken yoke and jewelled veil, Tojtjnd tho touch of Midas fail. King Dollar loso command. But now I see that I was wrong. And none more glad than I. Their birthright mocked, the weakest throng From crowded cities giant strong. Their eyes a torch, their tramp a song, Prepared to live or die ! —Richard Butler Glaenzer, in • Munsey's.'