Ballads of Peace in War.

by Michael Earls.

HIS LIGHT

Gray mist on the sea, And the night coming down, She stays with sorrow In a far town.

He goes the sea-ways By channel lights dim, Her love, a true light, Watches for him.

They would be wedded On a fair yesterday, But the quick regiment Saw him away.

Gray mist in her eyes And the night coming down: He feels a prayer From a far town.

He goes the sea-ways, The land lights are dim; She and an altar light Keep watch for him.

THE COUNTERSIGN

Along Virginia's wondering roads While armies hastened on, To Beauregard's great Southern host, Mana.s.sas fields upon, Came Colonel Smith's good regiment, Eager for Washington.

But Colonel Smith must halt his men In a dangerous delay, Though well he knows the countryside To the distant host of grey.

He cannot join with Beauregard For Bull Run's b.l.o.o.d.y fray.

And does he halt for storm or ford, Or does he stay to dine?

Say, No! but death will meet his men, Onward if moves the line: He dares not hurry to Beauregard, Not knowing the countersign.

Flashed in the sun his waving sword; "Who rides for me?" he cried, "And ask of the Chief the countersign, Upon a daring ride; Though never the lad come back again With the good that will betide.

"I will send a letter to Beauregard,"

The Colonel slowly said; "The bearer dies at the pickets' line, But the letter shall be read When the pickets find it for the Chief, In the brave hand of the dead."

THE COUNTERSIGN

"Ready I ride to the Chief for the sign,"

Said little Dan O'Shea, "Though never I come from the picket's line, But a faded suit of grey: Yet over my death will the road be safe, And the regiment march away."

"In a mother's name, I bless thee, lad,"

The Colonel drew him near: "But first in the name of G.o.d," said Dan, "And then is my mother's dear-- Her own good lips that taught me well, With the Cross of Christ no fear."

Quickly he rode by valley and hill, On to the outpost line, Till the pickets arise by wall and mound, And the levelled muskets shine; "Halt!" they cried, "count three to death, Or give us the countersign."

Lightly the lad leaped from his steed, No fear was in his sigh, But a mother's face and a home he loved Under an Irish sky: He made the Sign of the Cross and stood, Bravely he stood to die.

Lips in a prayer at the blessed Sign, And calmly he looked around, And wonder seized his waiting soul To hear no musket sound, But only the pickets calling to him, Heartily up the mound.

For this was the order of Beauregard Around his camp that day-- The Sign of the Cross was countersign, (And a blessing to Dan O'Shea) And the word came quick to Colonel Smith For the muster of the grey.

A HILL O' LIGHTS

Turn from Kerry crossroads and leave the wooded dells, Take the mountain path and find where Tip O'Leary dwells; Tip O'Leary is the name, I sing it all day long, And every bird whose heart is wise will have it for a song.

Tip O'Leary keeps the lights of many lamps aglow, Little matters it to him the seasons come or go, Sure if spring is in the air his hedges are abloom, And fairy buds like candles shine across his garden room.

Roses in the June days are light the miles around, Tapers of the fuchsias move along the August ground, Sumachs light the flaming torches by October's grave And like the campfires on the hills the oaks and maples wave.

All the lights but only one die out when summer goes, One that Tip O'Leary keeps is brighter than the rose, Through the window comes the bloom on any winter night, And every sense goes wild to it, soft and sweet and bright.

Lamps are fair that have the light from flowers all day long, When the birds are here and sing the Tip O'Leary song, But a winter window is the fairest rose of all, When Tip O'Leary's hearth is lit and lamps upon the wall.

OFF TO THE WAR

(For Jack)

In a little ship and down the bay, Out to the calling sea, A young brave lad sailed off today, To the one great war went he: The one long war all men must know Greater than land or gold, Soul is the prince and flesh the foe Of a kingdom Christ will hold.

With arms of faith and hope well-wrought The brave lad went away, And the voice of Christ fills all his thought, Under two hands that pray: The tender love of a mother's hands That guarded all his years, Fitted the armor, plate and bands, And blessed them with her tears.

Older than Rhodes and Ascalon And the farthest forts of sea, Is the Master voice that calls him on From the hills in Galilee: From hills where Christ in gentle guise Called, as He calls again, With His heart of love and His love-lit eyes Unto His warrior men.

Christ with the brave young lad to-day Who goes to the sweet command, Strengthen his heart wherever the way, Whether he march or stand: And whether he die in a peaceful cell, Or alone in the lonely night, The Cross of Christ shall keep him well, And be his death's delight.

THE TOWERS OF HOLY CROSS

(For W. M. Letts)

The roads look up to Holy Cross, The st.u.r.dy towers look down, And show a kindly word to all Who pa.s.s by Worcester Town; And once you'd see the boys at play, Or marching cap and gown.

The gallant towers at Holy Cross Are silent night and day, A few young lads are left behind Who still may take their play; The Cross and Flag look out afar For them that went away.