Ye who guard a nation's call And speed to arms therefor, Ye who pray for brave lads gone To perils of the war; Soldiers of the fleet and fort And mothers of our men, In the shadow of the Cross Shall we find peace again.

TO ONE IN SUCCESS

A world's new faces greet you, Ten thousand quick with praise, But truer stay to meet you Old friends and other days: Let fickle changes hurt you, (The new go quick apart) One fame shall ne'er desert you In true hearts like this heart.

THE LIFELONG WAR

Still goes the strife; the anguish does not die.

Stronger the flesh is grown from earthy years, In siege about my soul that upward peers To see and hold its Good. The spirit's eye Approves the better things; but senses spy The pa.s.sing sweets, spurning the present fears, And take their moment's prize. Ah, then hot tears Deluge my soul, and contrite moans my cry!

Courage, my heart: bright patience to the end!

Few years remain; then goes the warring wall Of sensely flesh, that men will throw to earth.

So be it; so the contrite soul shall wend A homeward way unto the Captain's call, Eternally to know contrition's worth.

LINDEN LANE

HOLY CROSS: MAY, 1917

(For Major Joseph W. O'Connor, '03)

Birds are merry and the buds Come along with May: Lonely is the linden land For lads that went today.

What calls the May of song But the fair young spring?

Heard our boys another tune Sterner voices sing.

Bugles blew by land and sea, And the tocsin drum; See, brave hearts go down the hill, Shouting, "Hail, we come."

From the towers that show the Cross, Staunch the Flag waved out, And the royal Purple shook Joyous with the shout.

Heigh-ho! And a l.u.s.ty cheer, Down the linden lane: The pine grove looked but cannot tell If they'll come home again.

Few may take the homeward road When the war is done: Where they fall or when they come, Hail, to the cause they won.

Till the buds and the merry birds Come another May, Cross and Flag aloft shall bless Brave lads who went today.

THE BOUNDARIES OF A HOUSE

Along the north a mountain crest, A row of trees runs towards the west; The south is all a field for play, For work the east has marked a way; The night shows all the stars above, And the long, long day, a mother's love.

ATTAINMENT

Let me go back again. There is the road, O memory! The humble garden lane So young with me. Let me rebuild again The start of faith and hope by that abode; Amend with morning freshness all the code Of youth's desire; remap my chart's demesne With tuneful joy, and plan a far campaign For better marches in ambition's mode.

Ah, no, my heart! More certain now the skies For joy abide: the cage of tree and sod, Horizons firm that faith and hope attain, Far realms of innocence in children's eyes, And hearts harmonious with the will of G.o.d:-- These might I miss if I were back again.

THE PHILOSOPHERS

The best of true philosophers Are the children, after all,-- The children with laughing hearts And the serious field and ball: They have a bowl and bubbles, And hours where rainbows are; They find, if ever the sun is hid, In every dark a star.

But, O, the sorry men that make The wise books of our day!

They cannot smile athwart a cloud, When black thoughts lead astray; They cannot add a simple sum, But talk like drunken men, And shut their eyes to keep out G.o.d When spring comes in again.

Far simpler than the Rule of Three Are the laws of earth and sky; Yet fools will muddle all true thought, And pride will have its cry; The banners with their deadly words Go reeling on unfurled, And sin and sadness march along To the heartbreak of the world.

THE PHILOSOPHERS

But the children are the wise men, With the clearest heart and mind; If two and one are three, they say, Then truth is near to find; If this be now that once was not, If things must have a cause, Then very simple is the sum That G.o.d is in His laws.

The world's men that are fools enough, They will not speak that way, But with a cloud of muddled thought They hide the light of day; Yet laughing words and candid truth Abide by field and hall, Where the best of true philosophers Are the children, after all.

PREPAREDNESS

I. THE DRUMMER BOY