30

TO BELGIUM

Our tears, our songs, our laurels--what are these
To thee in thy Gethsemane of loss,
Stretched in thine unimagined agonies
On Hell's last engine of the Iron Cross.

For such a world as this that thou shouldst die
Is price too vast--yet, Belgium, hadst thou sold
Thyself, O then had fled from out the earth
Honour for ever, and left only Gold.

Nor diest thou--for soon shalt thou awake,
And, lifted high on our victorious shields,
Watch the new sunrise driving for your sons
The hated German shadow from your fields.

"British colonists resident in London volunteer, and
not even silk hats are doffed before training begins"

--New York Times

THE SILK-HAT SOLDIER

I saw him in a picture, and I felt I'd like to cry--
He stood in line,
The man "for mine,"
A tall silk-hatted "guy"--
Right on the call,
Silk hat and all,
He'd hurried to the cry--
For he loves England well enough for England to die.

I've seen King Harry's helmet in the Abbey hanging high--
The one he wore
At Agincourt;
But braver to my eye
That city toff
Too keen to doff
His stove-pipe--bless him--why?
For he loves England well enough for England to die.

And other fellows in that line had come too on the fly,
Their joys and toys,
Brave English boys,
For good and all put by;
O you brave best,
Teach all the rest
How pure the heart and high
When one loves England well enough for England to die.

One threw his cricket-bat aside, one left the ink to dry;
All peace and play
He's put away,
And bid his love good-bye--
O mother mine!
O sweetheart mine!
No man of yours am I--
If I love not England well enough for England to die.

I guess it strikes a chill somewhere, the bravest won't deny,
All that you love,
Away to shove,
And set your teeth to die;
But better dead,
When all is said,
Than lapped in peace to lie--
If we love not England well enough for England to die.

THE CRY OF THE LITTLE PEOPLES

The Cry of the Little Peoples went up to God in vain;
The Czech and the Pole, and the Finn, and the Schleswig Dane:

We ask but a little portion of the green, ambitious earth;
Only to sow and sing and reap in the land of our birth.

We ask not coaling