An inconclusive peace!--
A peace that would be no peace--
Naught but a treacherous truce for breeding
Of a later, greater, baser-still betrayal!--
"No!" ...
The spirits of our myriad valiant dead,
Who died to make peace sure and life secure,
Thunder one mighty cry of righteous indignation,--
One vast imperative, unanswerable "No!" ...
"Not for that, not for that, did we die!"--
They cry;--
"--To give fresh life to godless knavery!
--To forge again the chains of slavery
Such as humanity has never known!
We gave our lives to set Life free,
Loyally, willingly gave we,
Lest on our children, and on theirs,
Should come like misery.
And now, from our souls' heights and depths,
We cry to you,--"Beware,
Lest you defraud us of one smallest atom of the price
Of this our sacrifice!
One fraction less than that full liberty,
Which comes of righteous and enduring peace,
Will be betrayal of your trust,--
Betrayal of your race, the world, and God."

IN CHURCH. 1916

Where are all the _young_ men?
There are only grey-heads here.
What has become of the _young_ men?

* * * * *

This is the young men's year!
They are gone, one and all, at duty's call,
To the camp, to the trench, to the sea.
They have left their homes, they have left their all,
And now, in ways heroical,--
_They are making history._
From bank and shop, from bench and mill,
From the schools, from the tail of the plough,
They hurried away at the call of the fray,
They could not linger a day, and now,--
_They are making history,_
And we miss them sorely, as we look
At the seats where they used to be,
And try to picture them as they are,--
Then hastily drop the vail:--for, you see,--
_They are making history._

* * * * *

And history, in these dread days,
Is sore sore sad in the making;
We are building the future with our dead,
We are binding it sure with the brave blood shed,
Though our hearts are well-nigh breaking.
We can but pray that the coming day
Will reap, of our red sowing,
The harvest meet of a world complete
With the peace of God's bestowing.
So, with quiet heart, we do our part
In the travail of this mystery,
We give of our best, and we leave the rest
To Him Who maketh history.

Some Hymns of Than