Part 40 (1/2)
IV
In n.o.bler breeds we put our trust: The nations in whose sacred lore The ”Ought” stands out above the ”Must,”
And honor rules in peace and war.
With these we hold in soul and heart, With these we choose our lot and part, Till Liberty is safe on sea and sh.o.r.e.
_London Times_, February 12, 1917.
”LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD”
Thou warden of the western gate, above Manhattan Bay, The fogs of doubt that hid thy face are driven clean away: Thine eyes at last look far and clear, thou liftest high thy hand To spread the light of liberty world-wide for every land.
No more thou dreamest of a peace reserved alone for thee, While friends are fighting for thy cause beyond the guardian sea: The battle that they wage is thine; thou fallest if they fall; The swollen flood of Prussian pride will sweep unchecked o'er all.
O cruel is the conquer-l.u.s.t in Hohenzollern brains: The paths they plot to gain their goal are dark with shameful stains; No faith they keep, no law revere, no G.o.d but naked Might; They are the foemen of mankind. Up, Liberty, and smite!
Britain, and France, and Italy, and Russia newly born, Have waited for thee in the night. Oh, come as comes the morn!
Serene and strong and full of faith, America, arise, With steady hope and mighty help to join thy brave Allies.
O dearest country of my heart, home of the high desire, Make clean thy soul for sacrifice on Freedom's altar-fire: For thou must suffer, thou must fight, until the warlords cease, And all the peoples lift their heads in liberty and peace.
_London Times_, April 12, 1917.
THE OXFORD THRUSHES
February, 1917
I never thought again to hear The Oxford thrushes singing clear, Amid the February rain, Their sweet, indomitable strain.
A wintry vapor lightly spreads Among the trees, and round the beds Where daffodil and jonquil sleep; Only the snowdrop wakes to weep.
It is not springtime yet. Alas, What dark, tempestuous days must pa.s.s, Till England's trial by battle cease, And summer comes again with peace.
The lofty halls, the tranquil towers, Where Learning in untroubled hours Held her high court, serene in fame, Are lovely still, yet not the same.
The novices in fluttering gown No longer fill the ancient town; But fighting men in khaki drest, And in the Schools the wounded rest.
Ah, far away, 'neath stranger skies Full many a son of Oxford lies, And whispers from his warrior grave, ”I died to keep the faith you gave.”
The mother mourns, but does not fail, Her courage and her love prevail O'er sorrow, and her spirit hears The promise of triumphant years.
Then sing, ye thrushes, in the rain Your sweet indomitable strain.