You have offered up yourselves to save the world; You have felt the abnegation of the Christ: And whatever work you do is a n.o.ble work and true; Though it be not done with banners all unfurled, You will find it has, in sight of G.o.d, sufficed.

While you carry back no medals when you go, Not without you had the fighters borne war's brunt: So just lift your heads uncowed, for your country will be proud And its lasting love and honour will bestow On the khaki boys who were not at the Front.

TIME'S HYMN OF HATE

Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great, How bitter and how black must be your self-invited fate, While Time goes down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate!

Time's voice is just. His words ring true. For as the past recedes, The clear-eyed Future slowly writes the story of its deeds; And as Time toward the Infinite his ceaseless flight is winging He shall go singing The hymn of hate, of men and G.o.ds, for all your deeds of l.u.s.t, For all your acts of cruelty and h.e.l.l-concocted schemes (More hideous than the darkest plot of which a devil dreams) Which sprang from your Medusa head before it touched the dust.

Beneath the strangling hand of Fate That strident voice of yours Shall hush to silence, soon or late That Justice that endures Will mobilise its mighty ranks and free the human race, Then shall all s.p.a.ce, Yea, all the chains of sphere on sphere, With that loud hymn be ringing, Which Time goes singing His far flight winging And all the cherubims of G.o.d that dwell in regions o'er us Shall swell the chorus.

Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great, How desolate and dark must be your self-invited fate, While Time goes down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate!

DEAR MOTHERLAND OF FRANCE DEDICATED TO THE MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE

Our Motherland, dear Motherland, The source of beauty and of Art, Who but thy children understand The love which permeates each heart!

We see, through rainbow-tints of tears, Thy glory of a thousand years.

O country of the Great and Free, We live for thee, we live for thee, Dear Motherland of France.

O Motherland, both blithe and brave, What magic lies in thy name--France!

Yet can thy radiant mien be grave, And stern thy ever-smiling glance.

And when thy sons and daughters know That enemies would lay thee low And dim thy fame on land and sea, We fight for thee, we fight for thee, Dear Motherland of France.

Dear Motherland of joy and mirth, Dear Motherland of faith divine, A thousand years the wondering earth Has seen thy star in splendour shine.

Still shall it see that star of France Its splendour and its light enhance.

Dear Motherland, when it need be We die for thee, we die for thee, Dear Motherland of France.

THE SPIRIT OF GREAT JOAN

Back of each soldier who fights for France, Ay, back of each woman and man Who toils and prays through these long tense days, Is the spirit of Great Joan.

For the love she gave, and the life she gave, In the eyes of G.o.d sufficed To crown her with light, and power, and might, That made her second to Christ.

And so in that hour at the Marne she came, To the seeing eyes of men; And the blind of view still felt and knew That her spirit had come again.

And she will come in each crucial hour And joy shall follow despair, For Joan sees her France on its knees And she hears the voice of its prayer.

There is no hate in the heart of France, But a mighty moral force That takes its stand for her worshipped land, And cannot be swerved from its course.

For this is the way with France to-day, Her courage comes from faith, And she bends her knee ere she straightens her arm; In her forward rush toward death.

A jungle of beasts in the heart of the Hun - War to the world laid bare.

And war has revealed, that France concealed, Only the lion's lair.

A lioness fighting to save her own, She fights as a lioness can, And strength to the end shall the Unseen send, In the spirit of Great Joan.

SPEAK

Obscured the sun, the world is dark; Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Send down thy spark.

Let every heart in France be stirred, By such an all-compelling word As thou once heard.

Say to each soul, 'Lo! I am near; My voice still speaks in accents clear.

Be still and hear.

'The France I saved can not be lost; Though tempest-torn and terror-tossed, Count not the cost.

'Give as the maid of Domremy Gave all--gave life itself to see Her country free.

'Back of great France my spirit towers To aid her through the darkest hours With G.o.d's own powers!'

Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Shine through the night, speak through the dark The while we hark.

THE GIRL OF THE U.S.A.

Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine, And I think every fellow will state That the 'what-you-may-call-it' coiffured way They put up their hair is great!

And they know how to dress, and they wear their clothes In a fetching, Frenchy way; And yet to me, there is just one girl - The girl of the U.S.A.

I like to listen when French girls talk, Though I'm weak in the 'parlez-vous' game; But the language of youth in every land Is somehow about the same, And I've learned a regular code of shrugs, And they seem to know what I say!

But the girl whose voice goes straight to my heart Is the girl of the U.S.A.

I haven't a word but words of praise For these dear little girls of France; And I will confess that I've felt a thrill As I faced their line of advance!

But I haven't been taken a prisoner yet, And I won't be, until the day When I carry my colours to lay at the feet Of a girl of the U.S.A.

Pa.s.sING THE BUCK

Whatever the task that comes your way, Just take it as part of your luck.

Look it right square in the eyes, and say, 'This is MY task, I'll do it to-day': Don't pa.s.s the buck.