Now what were the words of Jesus, And what would He pause and say, If we were to meet in home or street, The Lord of the world to-day?

Oh, I think He would pause and say: 'Go on with your chosen labour; Speak only good of your neighbour; Widen your farms, and lay down your arms, Or dig up the soil with each sabre.'

Now what were the answer of Jesus If we should ask for a creed, To carry us straight to the wonderful gate When soul from body is freed?

Oh, I think He would give us this creed: 'Praise G.o.d whatever betide you; Cast joy on the lives beside you; Better the earth, by growing in worth, With love as the law to guide you.'

Now what were the answer of Jesus If we should ask Him to tell Of the last great goal of the homing soul Where each of us hopes to dwell?

Oh, I think it is this He would tell: 'The soul is the builder--then wake it; The mind is the kingdom--then take it; And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought, For heaven will be what you make it.'

AMERICA

I am the refuge of all the oppressed, I am the boast of the free, I am the harbour where ships may rest Safely 'twixt sea and sea.

I hold up a torch to a darkened world, I lighten the path with its ray.

Let my hand keep steady And let me be ready For whatever comes my way - Let me be ready.

Oh, better than fortresses, better than guns, Better than lance or spear, Are the loyal hearts of my daughters and sons, Faithful and without fear.

But my daughters and sons must understand THAT ATTILA DID NOT DIE.

And they must be ready, Their hands must be steady, If the hosts of h.e.l.l come nigh - They must be ready.

If Jesus were back on the earth with men, He would not preach to-day Until He had made Him a scourge, and again He would drive the defilers away.

He would throw down the tables of l.u.s.t and greed And scatter the changers' gold.

He would be ready, His hand would be steady, As it was in that temple of old - He would be ready.

I am the cradle of G.o.d's new world, From me shall the new race rise, And my glorious banner must float unfurled, Unsullied against the skies.

My sons and daughters must be my strength, With courage to do and to dare, With hearts that are ready, With hands that are steady, And their slogan must be, PREPARE! - They must be ready!

With a prayer on the lip they must shoulder arms, For after all has been said, We must muster guns, If we master Huns - AND ATTILA IS NOT DEAD - We must be ready!

WAR MOTHERS

There is something in the sound of drum and fife That stirs all the savage instincts into life.

In the old times of peace we went our ways, Through proper days Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times, When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes, Telling to all the world some maid was wife - But taking patiently our part in life As it was portioned us by Church and State, Believing it our fate.

Our thoughts all chaste Held yet a secret wish to love and mate Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste.

But men we criticised for lack of strength, And kept them at arm's length.

Then the war came - The world was all aflame!

The men we had thought dull and void of power Were heroes in an hour.

He who had seemed a slave to petty greed Showed masterful in that great time of need.

He who had plotted for his neighbour's pelf, Now for his fellows offers up himself.

And we were only women, forced by war To sacrifice the things worth living for.

Something within us broke, Something within us woke, The wild cave-woman spoke.

When we heard the sound of drumming, As our soldiers went to camp, Heard them tramp, tramp, tramp; As we watched to see them coming, And they looked at us and smiled (Yes, looked back at us and smiled), As they filed along by hillock and by hollow, Then our hearts were so beguiled That, for many and many a day, We dreamed we heard them say, 'Oh, follow, follow, follow!'

And the distant, rolling drum Called us 'Come, come, come!'

Till our virtue seemed a thing to give away.

War had swept ten thousand years away from earth.

We were primal once again.

There were males, not modern men; We were females meant to bring their sons to birth.

And we could not wait for any formal rite, We could hear them calling to us, 'Come to-night; For to-morrow, at the dawn, We move on!'

And the drum Bellowed, 'Come, come, come!'

And the fife Whistled, 'Life, life, life!'

So they moved on and fought and bled and died; Honoured and mourned, they are the nation's pride.

We fought our battles, too, but with the tide Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives.

Because we were not wives We are dishonoured. Is it n.o.ble, then, To break G.o.d's laws only by killing men To save one's country from destruction?

We took no man's life but gave our chast.i.ty, And sinned the ancient sin To plant young trees and fill felled forests in.

Oh, clergy of the land, Bible in hand, All reverently you stand, On holy thoughts intent While barren wives receive the sacrament!

Had you the open visions you could see Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb, Who never knew a cradle or a tomb, Hovering about these wives accusingly.

Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known - Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown.

A HOLIDAY

Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to celebrate the sinking of the Lusitania.

War declares a holiday; Little children, run and play.

Ring-a-rosy round the earth With the garland of your mirth.

Shrill a song brim full of glee Of a great ship sunk at sea.

Tell with pleasure and with pride How a hundred children died.

Sing of orphan babes, whose cries Beat against unanswering skies; Let a mother's mad despair Lend staccato to your air.

Sing of babes who drowned alone; Sing of headstones, marked 'Unknown'; Sing of homes made desolate Where the stricken mourners wait.

Sing of battered corpses tossed By the heedless waves, and lost.

Run, sweet children, sing and play; War declares a holiday.

THE UNDERTONE