THE SILENT TOAST

From "Vimy Ridge and New Poems"—By permission of the Author and of J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., Toronto

(Vimy Ridge, April, 1917)

They stand with reverent faces,And their merriment give o'er,As they drink the toast to the unseen host,Who have fought and gone before.It is only a passing momentIn the midst of the feast and song,But it grips the breath, as the wind of deathIn a vision sweeps along.No more they see the banquetAnd the brilliant lights around:But they charge again on the hideous plainWhen the shell-bursts rip the ground.Or they creep at night, like panthers,Through the waste of No Man's Land,Their hearts afire with a wild desireAnd death on every hand.And out of the roar and tumult,Or the black night loud with rain,Some face comes back on the fiery trackAnd looks in their eyes again.And the love that is passing woman's,And the bonds that are forged by death,Now grip the soul with a strange controlAnd speak what no man saith.The vision dies off in the stillness,Once more the tables shine,But the eyes of all in the banquet hallAre lit with a light divine.Frederick George Scott

They stand with reverent faces,And their merriment give o'er,As they drink the toast to the unseen host,Who have fought and gone before.

They stand with reverent faces,

And their merriment give o'er,

As they drink the toast to the unseen host,

Who have fought and gone before.

It is only a passing momentIn the midst of the feast and song,But it grips the breath, as the wind of deathIn a vision sweeps along.

It is only a passing moment

In the midst of the feast and song,

But it grips the breath, as the wind of death

In a vision sweeps along.

No more they see the banquetAnd the brilliant lights around:But they charge again on the hideous plainWhen the shell-bursts rip the ground.

No more they see the banquet

And the brilliant lights around:

But they charge again on the hideous plain

When the shell-bursts rip the ground.

Or they creep at night, like panthers,Through the waste of No Man's Land,Their hearts afire with a wild desireAnd death on every hand.

Or they creep at night, like panthers,

Through the waste of No Man's Land,

Their hearts afire with a wild desire

And death on every hand.

And out of the roar and tumult,Or the black night loud with rain,Some face comes back on the fiery trackAnd looks in their eyes again.

And out of the roar and tumult,

Or the black night loud with rain,

Some face comes back on the fiery track

And looks in their eyes again.

And the love that is passing woman's,And the bonds that are forged by death,Now grip the soul with a strange controlAnd speak what no man saith.

And the love that is passing woman's,

And the bonds that are forged by death,

Now grip the soul with a strange control

And speak what no man saith.

The vision dies off in the stillness,Once more the tables shine,But the eyes of all in the banquet hallAre lit with a light divine.

The vision dies off in the stillness,

Once more the tables shine,

But the eyes of all in the banquet hall

Are lit with a light divine.

Frederick George Scott

By permission of the Author and The Musson Book Company, Limited, Toronto

The ancient and the lovely landIs sown with death; across the plainUngarnered now the orchards stand,The Maxim nestles in the grain,The shrapnel spreads a stinging flailWhere pallid nuns the cloister trod,The airship spills her leaden hail;But—after all the battles—God.Athwart the vineyard's ordered banks,Silent the red rent forms recline,And from their stark and speechless ranksThere flows a richer, ruddier wine;While down the lane and through the wallThe victors writhe upon the sod,Nor heed the onward bugle call;But—after all the bugles—God.By night the blazing cities flareLike mushroom torches in the sky;The rocking ramparts tremble ereThe sullen cannon boom reply.And shattered is the temple spire,The vestment trampled on the clod,And every altar black with fire;But—after all the altars—God.And all the prizes we have wonAre buried in a deadly dust;The things we set our hearts uponBeneath the stricken earth are thrust;Again the Savage greets the sun,Again his feet, with fury shod,Across a world in anguish run;But—after all the anguish—God.The grim campaign, the gun, the sword,The quick volcano from the sea,The honour that reveres the word,The sacrifice, the agony—These be our heritage and pride,Till the last despot kiss the rod,And, with man's freedom purified,We mark—behind our triumph—God.Alan SullivanBy permission of the Author

The ancient and the lovely land

Is sown with death; across the plain

Ungarnered now the orchards stand,

The Maxim nestles in the grain,

The shrapnel spreads a stinging flail

Where pallid nuns the cloister trod,

The airship spills her leaden hail;

But—after all the battles—God.

Athwart the vineyard's ordered banks,Silent the red rent forms recline,And from their stark and speechless ranksThere flows a richer, ruddier wine;While down the lane and through the wallThe victors writhe upon the sod,Nor heed the onward bugle call;But—after all the bugles—God.

Athwart the vineyard's ordered banks,

Silent the red rent forms recline,

And from their stark and speechless ranks

There flows a richer, ruddier wine;

While down the lane and through the wall

The victors writhe upon the sod,

Nor heed the onward bugle call;

But—after all the bugles—God.

By night the blazing cities flareLike mushroom torches in the sky;The rocking ramparts tremble ereThe sullen cannon boom reply.And shattered is the temple spire,The vestment trampled on the clod,And every altar black with fire;But—after all the altars—God.

By night the blazing cities flare

Like mushroom torches in the sky;

The rocking ramparts tremble ere

The sullen cannon boom reply.

And shattered is the temple spire,

The vestment trampled on the clod,

And every altar black with fire;

But—after all the altars—God.

And all the prizes we have wonAre buried in a deadly dust;The things we set our hearts uponBeneath the stricken earth are thrust;Again the Savage greets the sun,Again his feet, with fury shod,Across a world in anguish run;But—after all the anguish—God.

And all the prizes we have won

Are buried in a deadly dust;

The things we set our hearts upon

Beneath the stricken earth are thrust;

Again the Savage greets the sun,

Again his feet, with fury shod,

Across a world in anguish run;

But—after all the anguish—God.

The grim campaign, the gun, the sword,The quick volcano from the sea,The honour that reveres the word,The sacrifice, the agony—These be our heritage and pride,Till the last despot kiss the rod,And, with man's freedom purified,We mark—behind our triumph—God.

The grim campaign, the gun, the sword,

The quick volcano from the sea,

The honour that reveres the word,

The sacrifice, the agony—

These be our heritage and pride,

Till the last despot kiss the rod,

And, with man's freedom purified,

We mark—behind our triumph—God.

Alan Sullivan

By permission of the Author

Bold Watchers of the deeps,Guards of the Greater Ways,How shall our swelling hearts expressOur heights and depths of thankfulnessFor these safe-guarded days!Grim is your vigil there,Black day and blacker night,—Watching for life, while knavish deathLurks all around, above, beneath,Waiting his chance to smite.Your hearts are stouter thanThe worst that Death can do.Our thoughts for you!—our prayers for you!There's One aloft that cares for you,And He will see you through.Don't think we e'er forgetThe debt we owe to you!Never a night but we pray for you!Never a day but we say for you,—"God bless the gallant lads in blue!With mighty strength their hearts renew!Bless every ship and every crew!Give every man his rightful due!And bring them all safe through!"John OxenhamBy permission of the Author

Bold Watchers of the deeps,Guards of the Greater Ways,How shall our swelling hearts expressOur heights and depths of thankfulnessFor these safe-guarded days!

Bold Watchers of the deeps,

Guards of the Greater Ways,

How shall our swelling hearts express

Our heights and depths of thankfulness

For these safe-guarded days!

Grim is your vigil there,Black day and blacker night,—Watching for life, while knavish deathLurks all around, above, beneath,Waiting his chance to smite.

Grim is your vigil there,

Black day and blacker night,—

Watching for life, while knavish death

Lurks all around, above, beneath,

Waiting his chance to smite.

Your hearts are stouter thanThe worst that Death can do.Our thoughts for you!—our prayers for you!There's One aloft that cares for you,And He will see you through.

Your hearts are stouter than

The worst that Death can do.

Our thoughts for you!—our prayers for you!

There's One aloft that cares for you,

And He will see you through.

Don't think we e'er forgetThe debt we owe to you!Never a night but we pray for you!Never a day but we say for you,—"God bless the gallant lads in blue!With mighty strength their hearts renew!Bless every ship and every crew!Give every man his rightful due!And bring them all safe through!"

Don't think we e'er forget

The debt we owe to you!

Never a night but we pray for you!

Never a day but we say for you,—

"God bless the gallant lads in blue!

With mighty strength their hearts renew!

Bless every ship and every crew!

Give every man his rightful due!

And bring them all safe through!"

John Oxenham

By permission of the Author

When Drake sailed out from Devon to break King Philip's pride,He had great ships at his bidding and little ones beside;Revengewas there, andLion, and others known to fame,And likewise he had small craft, which hadn't any name.Small craft—small craft, to harry and to flout 'em!Small craft—small craft, you cannot do without 'em!Their deeds are unrecorded, their names are never seen,But we know that there were small craft, because there must have been.When Nelson was blockading for three long years and more,With many a bluff first-rater and oaken seventy-fourTo share the fun and fighting, the good chance and the bad,Oh, he had also small craft, because he must have had.Upon the skirts of battle, from Sluys to Trafalgar,We know that there were small craft, because there always are;Yacht, sweeper, sloop, and drifter, to-day as yesterday,The big ships fight the battles, but the small craft clear the way.They scout before the squadrons when mighty fleets engage;They glean War's dreadful harvest when the fight has ceased to rage;Too great they count no hazard, no task beyond their power,And merchantmen bless small craft a hundred times an hour.In Admirals' dispatches their names are seldom heard;They justify their being by more than written word;In battle, toil, and tempest, and dangers manifoldThe doughty deeds of small craft will never all be told.Scant ease, and scantier leisure—they take no heed of these,For men lie hard in small craft when storm is on the seas;A long watch and a weary, from dawn to set of sun—The men who serve in small craft, their work is never done.And if, as chance may have it, some bitter day they lieOut-classed, out-gunned, out-numbered, with naught to do but die,When the last gun's out of action, good-bye to ship and crew,But men die hard in small craft, as they will always do.Oh, death comes once to each man, and the game it pays for all,And duty is but duty in great ship and in small,And it will not vex their slumbers or make less sweet their rest,Though there's never a big black headline for small craft going west.Great ships and mighty captains—to these their meed of praiseFor patience, skill, and daring, and loud victorious days;To every man his portion, as is both right and fair,But oh! forget not small craft, for they have done their share.Small craft—small craft, from Scapa Flow to Dover,Small craft—small craft, all the wide world over,At risk of war and shipwreck, torpedo, mine, and shell,All honour be to small craft, for oh, they've earned it well!C. Fox-SmithReprinted by special permission of London "Punch"

When Drake sailed out from Devon to break King Philip's pride,

He had great ships at his bidding and little ones beside;

Revengewas there, andLion, and others known to fame,

And likewise he had small craft, which hadn't any name.

Small craft—small craft, to harry and to flout 'em!Small craft—small craft, you cannot do without 'em!Their deeds are unrecorded, their names are never seen,But we know that there were small craft, because there must have been.

Small craft—small craft, to harry and to flout 'em!

Small craft—small craft, you cannot do without 'em!

Their deeds are unrecorded, their names are never seen,

But we know that there were small craft, because there must have been.

When Nelson was blockading for three long years and more,With many a bluff first-rater and oaken seventy-fourTo share the fun and fighting, the good chance and the bad,Oh, he had also small craft, because he must have had.

When Nelson was blockading for three long years and more,

With many a bluff first-rater and oaken seventy-four

To share the fun and fighting, the good chance and the bad,

Oh, he had also small craft, because he must have had.

Upon the skirts of battle, from Sluys to Trafalgar,We know that there were small craft, because there always are;Yacht, sweeper, sloop, and drifter, to-day as yesterday,The big ships fight the battles, but the small craft clear the way.

Upon the skirts of battle, from Sluys to Trafalgar,

We know that there were small craft, because there always are;

Yacht, sweeper, sloop, and drifter, to-day as yesterday,

The big ships fight the battles, but the small craft clear the way.

They scout before the squadrons when mighty fleets engage;They glean War's dreadful harvest when the fight has ceased to rage;Too great they count no hazard, no task beyond their power,And merchantmen bless small craft a hundred times an hour.

They scout before the squadrons when mighty fleets engage;

They glean War's dreadful harvest when the fight has ceased to rage;

Too great they count no hazard, no task beyond their power,

And merchantmen bless small craft a hundred times an hour.

In Admirals' dispatches their names are seldom heard;They justify their being by more than written word;In battle, toil, and tempest, and dangers manifoldThe doughty deeds of small craft will never all be told.

In Admirals' dispatches their names are seldom heard;

They justify their being by more than written word;

In battle, toil, and tempest, and dangers manifold

The doughty deeds of small craft will never all be told.

Scant ease, and scantier leisure—they take no heed of these,For men lie hard in small craft when storm is on the seas;A long watch and a weary, from dawn to set of sun—The men who serve in small craft, their work is never done.

Scant ease, and scantier leisure—they take no heed of these,

For men lie hard in small craft when storm is on the seas;

A long watch and a weary, from dawn to set of sun—

The men who serve in small craft, their work is never done.

And if, as chance may have it, some bitter day they lieOut-classed, out-gunned, out-numbered, with naught to do but die,When the last gun's out of action, good-bye to ship and crew,But men die hard in small craft, as they will always do.

And if, as chance may have it, some bitter day they lie

Out-classed, out-gunned, out-numbered, with naught to do but die,

When the last gun's out of action, good-bye to ship and crew,

But men die hard in small craft, as they will always do.

Oh, death comes once to each man, and the game it pays for all,And duty is but duty in great ship and in small,And it will not vex their slumbers or make less sweet their rest,Though there's never a big black headline for small craft going west.

Oh, death comes once to each man, and the game it pays for all,

And duty is but duty in great ship and in small,

And it will not vex their slumbers or make less sweet their rest,

Though there's never a big black headline for small craft going west.

Great ships and mighty captains—to these their meed of praiseFor patience, skill, and daring, and loud victorious days;To every man his portion, as is both right and fair,But oh! forget not small craft, for they have done their share.

Great ships and mighty captains—to these their meed of praise

For patience, skill, and daring, and loud victorious days;

To every man his portion, as is both right and fair,

But oh! forget not small craft, for they have done their share.

Small craft—small craft, from Scapa Flow to Dover,Small craft—small craft, all the wide world over,At risk of war and shipwreck, torpedo, mine, and shell,All honour be to small craft, for oh, they've earned it well!

Small craft—small craft, from Scapa Flow to Dover,

Small craft—small craft, all the wide world over,

At risk of war and shipwreck, torpedo, mine, and shell,

All honour be to small craft, for oh, they've earned it well!

C. Fox-Smith

Reprinted by special permission of London "Punch"

(May, 1917)

I come into Canada to a great free country, composed not only of friends, but of countrymen. We think the same thoughts, we live in the same civilization, we belong to the same Empire, and if anything could have cemented more closely the bonds of Empire, if anything could have made us feel that we were indeed of one flesh and one blood, with one common history behind us, if anything could have cemented these feelings, it is the consciousness that now for two years and a half we have been engaged in this great struggle, in which, I thank God, all North America is now at one. We have been engaged in this great struggle through these two years and a half, fighting together, when necessary making all our sacrifices in common, working together toward a common and victorious end, which I doubt not will crown our efforts.

May I, as a countryman of yours, though not a citizen of Toronto, may I say how profoundly the whole Empire feels the magnitude of the effort you have made, and how we value it for itself and for an example to all posterity, an evidence to the whole world of what the British Empire really means, not only for the whole of that civilized body of nations of which we form no inconsiderable part.

These are proud thoughts; they will some day be proud memories. We are associated together in astruggle never equalled yet in the history of the world, and I rejoice to think that in that struggle on which posterity will look back as the greatest effort made for freedom and civilization, the British Empire in every one of its constituent parts, and surely not least in this great Dominion, in this proud Province, and in this city not least, has shown what the unity of the Empire really means, and how vain were the anticipations of those who thought that we were constituted but a fair-weather Empire, to be dissolved into thin atoms at the first storm that should burst upon it.

We have, on the contrary, shown that the more storms beat on the fabric of our Empire the more firmly it held together, and were so far from shaking it in any single part. Events that have recently occurred, that are occurring, and that will occur in the future, will join every part of it together for ever in memories which will remain with us, the actors in this great drama, until we die, and which we shall be able to hand to our children and our grandchildren as long as civilization exists.

(Seen from the train)

I saw the spires of OxfordAs I was passing by,The gray spires of OxfordAgainst a pearl-gray sky.My heart was with the Oxford menWho went abroad to die.The years go fast in Oxford,The golden years and gay,The hoary Colleges look downOn careless boys at play.But when the bugle sounded warThey put their games away.They left the peaceful river,The cricket-field, the quad,The shaven lawns of OxfordTo seek a bloody sod—They gave their merry youth awayFor country and for God.God rest you, happy gentlemen,Who laid your good lives down,Who took the khaki and the gunInstead of cap and gown.God bring you to a fairer placeThan even Oxford town.W. M. Letts

I saw the spires of OxfordAs I was passing by,The gray spires of OxfordAgainst a pearl-gray sky.My heart was with the Oxford menWho went abroad to die.

I saw the spires of Oxford

As I was passing by,

The gray spires of Oxford

Against a pearl-gray sky.

My heart was with the Oxford men

Who went abroad to die.

The years go fast in Oxford,The golden years and gay,The hoary Colleges look downOn careless boys at play.But when the bugle sounded warThey put their games away.

The years go fast in Oxford,

The golden years and gay,

The hoary Colleges look down

On careless boys at play.

But when the bugle sounded war

They put their games away.

They left the peaceful river,The cricket-field, the quad,The shaven lawns of OxfordTo seek a bloody sod—They gave their merry youth awayFor country and for God.

They left the peaceful river,

The cricket-field, the quad,

The shaven lawns of Oxford

To seek a bloody sod—

They gave their merry youth away

For country and for God.

God rest you, happy gentlemen,Who laid your good lives down,Who took the khaki and the gunInstead of cap and gown.God bring you to a fairer placeThan even Oxford town.

God rest you, happy gentlemen,

Who laid your good lives down,

Who took the khaki and the gun

Instead of cap and gown.

God bring you to a fairer place

Than even Oxford town.

W. M. Letts

By permission of the Author From "Spires of Oxford"— E. P. Dutton & Co., New York

(May 12, 1917)

It must not be forgotten that in the month of February, 1915, at Ypres, in the north of France, near the Belgian frontier, in a country devastated by floods, after the terrific assault of the German soldiers by means of asphyxiating gases—Germany, the country that has caused science to swerve from its true ends, and, instead of pouring its benefits upon mankind, has visited humanity with manifold evils and crimes—that same Germany had to meet your Canadian soldiers. On that terrific day, your sons, rising in their might, saved the situation.

And throughout many battles, throughout numerous and recent victories, the soldiers of Canada stood up heroically against the foe. Even at this moment, we have before our eyes your boys, so alert, so athletic, so brave, the first to storm, victoriously carrying their flag to those heights of Vimy which were reputed to be impregnable.

Hail to all these soldiers; let us bow our heads reverently before those who fight, those who suffer, and those who have laid down their lives for their country. They had a clear perception of what their action meant; when they left this country they were well aware that it was not only Great Britain that they were called upon to defend, that it was not onlyFrance that they were going to protect against the attacks of invaders:—their clear vision upturned toward Heaven, detected the higher object; they were well aware that it was the sacred cause of humanity, of democracy, and of justice, that they were defending.

Give us a name to fill the mindWith the shining thoughts that lead mankind,The glory of learning, the glory of art,—A name that tells of a splendid partIn the long, long toil and the strenuous fightOf the human race to win its wayFrom the feudal darkness into the dayOf Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,—A name like a star, a name of light.I give youFrance!Give us a name to stir the bloodWith a warmer glow and a swifter flood,—A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear,And silver-sweet, and iron-strong,That calls three million men to their feet,Ready to march, and steady to meetThe foes who threaten that name with wrong,—A name that rings like a battle-song.I give youFrance!Give us a name to move the heartWith the strength that noble griefs impart,A name that speaks of the blood outpouredTo save mankind from the sway of the sword,—A name that calls on the world to shareIn the burden of sacrificial strifeWhere the cause at stake is the world's free lifeAnd the rule of the people everywhere,—A name like a vow, a name like a prayer.I give youFrance!Henry van Dyke

Give us a name to fill the mind

With the shining thoughts that lead mankind,

The glory of learning, the glory of art,—

A name that tells of a splendid part

In the long, long toil and the strenuous fight

Of the human race to win its way

From the feudal darkness into the day

Of Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,—

A name like a star, a name of light.

I give youFrance!

Give us a name to stir the bloodWith a warmer glow and a swifter flood,—A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear,And silver-sweet, and iron-strong,That calls three million men to their feet,Ready to march, and steady to meetThe foes who threaten that name with wrong,—A name that rings like a battle-song.I give youFrance!

Give us a name to stir the blood

With a warmer glow and a swifter flood,—

A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear,

And silver-sweet, and iron-strong,

That calls three million men to their feet,

Ready to march, and steady to meet

The foes who threaten that name with wrong,—

A name that rings like a battle-song.

I give youFrance!

Give us a name to move the heartWith the strength that noble griefs impart,A name that speaks of the blood outpouredTo save mankind from the sway of the sword,—A name that calls on the world to shareIn the burden of sacrificial strifeWhere the cause at stake is the world's free lifeAnd the rule of the people everywhere,—A name like a vow, a name like a prayer.I give youFrance!

Give us a name to move the heart

With the strength that noble griefs impart,

A name that speaks of the blood outpoured

To save mankind from the sway of the sword,—

A name that calls on the world to share

In the burden of sacrificial strife

Where the cause at stake is the world's free life

And the rule of the people everywhere,—

A name like a vow, a name like a prayer.

I give youFrance!

Henry van Dyke

From "The Red Flower"—Copyright Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. By permission of the Author

(May 12, 1917)

I thank you, with all my heart, for the warmth of the reception you have given me, and I can assure you that the acclamations with which you have greeted me will be heard in France. I know the services rendered by Canada in France. Your soldiers have fought beside our soldiers, and many have died in the fight we are waging. They have always shown indomitable courage, and in them Canada has done her duty.

. . . . . . . . . .

Your Canadian soldiers have won the admiration of France. I have seen your men in action, they are courageous; they are indomitable and marvellous; they despise death; and their bravery is only equalled by that of the soldiers of France.

I thank you for the demonstration you have given me, and I am happy that I have been able, during my stay on this continent, to come up to this great city of Montreal for a few hours, to meet a people who show us so warmly that we in France have a place in their affections. All I can say is, and I say it with all my heart, "Vive le Canada!"

Lord God of Hosts, whose mighty handDominion holds on sea and land,In Peace and War Thy Will we seeShaping the larger liberty.Nations may rise and nations fall,Thy Changeless Purpose rules them all.When Death flies swift on wave or field,Be Thou a sure defence and shield!Console and succour those who fall,And help and hearten each and all!O, hear a people's prayers for thoseWho fearless face their country's foes!For those who weak and broken lie,In weariness and agony—Great Healer, to their beds of painCome, touch, and make them whole again!O, hear a people's prayers, and blessThy servants in their hour of stress!For those to whom the call shall comeWe pray Thy tender welcome home.The toil, the bitterness, all past,We trust them to Thy Love at last.O, hear a people's prayers for allWho, nobly striving, nobly fall!To every stricken heart and home,O, come! In tenderest pity, come!To anxious souls who wait in fear,Be Thou most wonderfully near!And hear a people's prayers, for faithTo quicken life and conquer death!For those who minister and heal,And spend themselves, their skill, their zeal—Renew their hearts with Christ-like faith,And guard them from disease and death.And in Thine own good time, Lord, sendThy Peace on earth till Time shall end!John OxenhamBy permission of the Author

Lord God of Hosts, whose mighty handDominion holds on sea and land,In Peace and War Thy Will we seeShaping the larger liberty.Nations may rise and nations fall,Thy Changeless Purpose rules them all.

Lord God of Hosts, whose mighty hand

Dominion holds on sea and land,

In Peace and War Thy Will we see

Shaping the larger liberty.

Nations may rise and nations fall,

Thy Changeless Purpose rules them all.

When Death flies swift on wave or field,Be Thou a sure defence and shield!Console and succour those who fall,And help and hearten each and all!O, hear a people's prayers for thoseWho fearless face their country's foes!

When Death flies swift on wave or field,

Be Thou a sure defence and shield!

Console and succour those who fall,

And help and hearten each and all!

O, hear a people's prayers for those

Who fearless face their country's foes!

For those who weak and broken lie,In weariness and agony—Great Healer, to their beds of painCome, touch, and make them whole again!O, hear a people's prayers, and blessThy servants in their hour of stress!

For those who weak and broken lie,

In weariness and agony—

Great Healer, to their beds of pain

Come, touch, and make them whole again!

O, hear a people's prayers, and bless

Thy servants in their hour of stress!

For those to whom the call shall comeWe pray Thy tender welcome home.The toil, the bitterness, all past,We trust them to Thy Love at last.O, hear a people's prayers for allWho, nobly striving, nobly fall!

For those to whom the call shall come

We pray Thy tender welcome home.

The toil, the bitterness, all past,

We trust them to Thy Love at last.

O, hear a people's prayers for all

Who, nobly striving, nobly fall!

To every stricken heart and home,O, come! In tenderest pity, come!To anxious souls who wait in fear,Be Thou most wonderfully near!And hear a people's prayers, for faithTo quicken life and conquer death!

To every stricken heart and home,

O, come! In tenderest pity, come!

To anxious souls who wait in fear,

Be Thou most wonderfully near!

And hear a people's prayers, for faith

To quicken life and conquer death!

For those who minister and heal,And spend themselves, their skill, their zeal—Renew their hearts with Christ-like faith,And guard them from disease and death.And in Thine own good time, Lord, sendThy Peace on earth till Time shall end!

For those who minister and heal,

And spend themselves, their skill, their zeal—

Renew their hearts with Christ-like faith,

And guard them from disease and death.

And in Thine own good time, Lord, send

Thy Peace on earth till Time shall end!

John Oxenham

By permission of the Author

What has Britain done?Kept the faith and fought the fightFor the everlasting right:Chivalrously couched her lanceIn defence of Belgium, France—This has Britain done.What has Britain done?Given every seventh son,Met the challenge of the Hun:Placed her men on every field,Proud to die, too proud to yield—This has Britain done.What has Britain done?Answers every far-flung breezeBlown across the seven seas:"Watch and ward secure she keeps,With vigilance that never sleeps"—This has Britain done.What has Britain done?On every front, her flag unfurled,Fought a world-war round the world:Then, when all is said and done,Ask her Allies, ask the Hun,"What has Britain done?"What has Britain done?For her slain Britannia weeps—She might boast who silence keeps.But, when all is done and said,Call the roll and count her dead,And know what she has done.Rev. F. B. HodginsBy permission of the Author

What has Britain done?Kept the faith and fought the fightFor the everlasting right:Chivalrously couched her lanceIn defence of Belgium, France—This has Britain done.

What has Britain done?

Kept the faith and fought the fight

For the everlasting right:

Chivalrously couched her lance

In defence of Belgium, France—

This has Britain done.

What has Britain done?Given every seventh son,Met the challenge of the Hun:Placed her men on every field,Proud to die, too proud to yield—This has Britain done.

What has Britain done?

Given every seventh son,

Met the challenge of the Hun:

Placed her men on every field,

Proud to die, too proud to yield—

This has Britain done.

What has Britain done?Answers every far-flung breezeBlown across the seven seas:"Watch and ward secure she keeps,With vigilance that never sleeps"—This has Britain done.

What has Britain done?

Answers every far-flung breeze

Blown across the seven seas:

"Watch and ward secure she keeps,

With vigilance that never sleeps"—

This has Britain done.

What has Britain done?On every front, her flag unfurled,Fought a world-war round the world:Then, when all is said and done,Ask her Allies, ask the Hun,"What has Britain done?"

What has Britain done?

On every front, her flag unfurled,

Fought a world-war round the world:

Then, when all is said and done,

Ask her Allies, ask the Hun,

"What has Britain done?"

What has Britain done?For her slain Britannia weeps—She might boast who silence keeps.But, when all is done and said,Call the roll and count her dead,And know what she has done.

What has Britain done?

For her slain Britannia weeps—

She might boast who silence keeps.

But, when all is done and said,

Call the roll and count her dead,

And know what she has done.

Rev. F. B. Hodgins

By permission of the Author

(Delivered at Queen's Hall on the Third Anniversary of the Declaration of War, August 4, 1917)

While the Army is fighting so valiantly, let the nation behind it be patient, be strong, and, above all, united. The strain is great on nations and on individuals, and when men get over-strained tempers get ragged, and small grievances are exaggerated, and small misunderstandings and mistakes swell into mountains. Long wars, like long voyages and long journeys, are very trying to the temper, and wise men keep watch on it and make allowances for it. There are some who are more concerned about ending the war than about winning it; and plans which lead to victory, if they prolong the conflict, have their disapproval, and the people who are responsible for such plans have their condemnation. Let us keep our eye steadily on the winning of the war. May I say let uskeep both eyes? Some have a cast in their eye, and while one eye is fixed truly on victory, the other is wandering around to other issues or staring stonily at some pet or partisan project of their own. Beware of becoming cross-eyed! Keep both eyes on victory. Look neither to the right nor to the left. That is the way we shall win. If any one promotes national distrust or disunion at this hour, he is helping the enemy and hurting his native land. And it makes no difference whether he is for or against the war. As a matter of fact, the hurt is deeper if he is for the war, because whatever the pure pacifist says is discounted, and, as far as the war is concerned, discredited.

Let there be one thought in every head. If you sow distrust, discontent, disunion in the nation we shall reap defeat. If, on the other hand, we sow the seeds of patience, confidence, and unity, we shall garner in victory and its fruits. The last ridges of a climb are always the most trying to the nerves and to the heart, but the real test of great endurance and courage is the last few hundreds or scores of feet in a climb upwards. The climber who turns back when he is almost there never becomes a great mountaineer, and the nation that turns back and falters before it reaches its purpose never becomes a great people. You have all had experience in climbing, no doubt—perhaps in Wales. Any mountaineer can start; any sort of mountaineer can go part of the way; and very often the poorer the mountaineer, the greater is his ardour when he does start; but fatigue and danger wear out all but the stoutest hearts, and even themost stout-hearted sometimes fail when they come to the last slippery precipice. But if they do turn back and afterwards look up and see how near they had got to the top, how they curse the faint-heartedness which bade them give up when they were so near the goal!

(This is the reply of an American poet to a question often heard in the United States.)

Strange, that in this great hour, when RighteousnessHas won her war upon Hypocrisy,That some there be who, lost in littleness,And mindful of an ancient grudge, can ask:"Now, what has England done to win this war?"We think we see her smile that English smile,And shrug a lazy shoulder and—just smile.It were so little worth her while to pauseIn her stupendous task to make reply.What has she done? When with her great, gray ships,Lithe, lean destroyers, grim, invincible,She swept the prowling Prussian from the seas;And, heedless of the slinking submarine,The hidden mine, the Hun-made treacheries,Her transports plied the waters ceaselessly!You ask what she has done? Have you forgotThat 'neath the burning suns of PalestineShe fought and bled, nor wearied of the fightTill from that land where walked the NazareneShe drove the foul and pestilential Turk?Ah, what has England done? No need to ask!Upon the fields of Flanders and of FranceA million crosses mark a million graves;Upon each cross a well-loved English name.And, ah, her women! On that peaceful isle,Where in the hawthorn hedges thrushes sang,And meadow-larks made gay the scented air,Now blackened chimneys rear their grimy heads,Smoke-belching, and the frightened birds have fledBefore the thunder of the whirring wheels.Behind unlovely walls, amid the din,Seven times a million noble women toil—With tender, unaccustomed fingers toil,Nor dream that they have played a hero's part.Great-hearted England, we have fought the fightTogether, and our mingled blood has flowed.Full well we know that underneath that maskOf cool indifference there beats a heart,Grim as your own gaunt ships when duty calls,Yet warm and gentle as your summer skies:A Nation's heart that beats throughout a landWhere Kings may be beloved, and MonarchyCan teach Republics how they may be free.Ah! What has England done? When came the call,She counted not the cost, but gave her all!Vilda Sauvage OwensBy permission of the Author

Strange, that in this great hour, when Righteousness

Has won her war upon Hypocrisy,

That some there be who, lost in littleness,

And mindful of an ancient grudge, can ask:

"Now, what has England done to win this war?"

We think we see her smile that English smile,

And shrug a lazy shoulder and—just smile.

It were so little worth her while to pause

In her stupendous task to make reply.

What has she done? When with her great, gray ships,Lithe, lean destroyers, grim, invincible,She swept the prowling Prussian from the seas;And, heedless of the slinking submarine,The hidden mine, the Hun-made treacheries,Her transports plied the waters ceaselessly!You ask what she has done? Have you forgotThat 'neath the burning suns of PalestineShe fought and bled, nor wearied of the fightTill from that land where walked the NazareneShe drove the foul and pestilential Turk?

What has she done? When with her great, gray ships,

Lithe, lean destroyers, grim, invincible,

She swept the prowling Prussian from the seas;

And, heedless of the slinking submarine,

The hidden mine, the Hun-made treacheries,

Her transports plied the waters ceaselessly!

You ask what she has done? Have you forgot

That 'neath the burning suns of Palestine

She fought and bled, nor wearied of the fight

Till from that land where walked the Nazarene

She drove the foul and pestilential Turk?

Ah, what has England done? No need to ask!Upon the fields of Flanders and of FranceA million crosses mark a million graves;Upon each cross a well-loved English name.And, ah, her women! On that peaceful isle,Where in the hawthorn hedges thrushes sang,And meadow-larks made gay the scented air,Now blackened chimneys rear their grimy heads,Smoke-belching, and the frightened birds have fledBefore the thunder of the whirring wheels.Behind unlovely walls, amid the din,Seven times a million noble women toil—With tender, unaccustomed fingers toil,Nor dream that they have played a hero's part.

Ah, what has England done? No need to ask!

Upon the fields of Flanders and of France

A million crosses mark a million graves;

Upon each cross a well-loved English name.

And, ah, her women! On that peaceful isle,

Where in the hawthorn hedges thrushes sang,

And meadow-larks made gay the scented air,

Now blackened chimneys rear their grimy heads,

Smoke-belching, and the frightened birds have fled

Before the thunder of the whirring wheels.

Behind unlovely walls, amid the din,

Seven times a million noble women toil—

With tender, unaccustomed fingers toil,

Nor dream that they have played a hero's part.

Great-hearted England, we have fought the fightTogether, and our mingled blood has flowed.Full well we know that underneath that maskOf cool indifference there beats a heart,Grim as your own gaunt ships when duty calls,Yet warm and gentle as your summer skies:A Nation's heart that beats throughout a landWhere Kings may be beloved, and MonarchyCan teach Republics how they may be free.Ah! What has England done? When came the call,She counted not the cost, but gave her all!

Great-hearted England, we have fought the fight

Together, and our mingled blood has flowed.

Full well we know that underneath that mask

Of cool indifference there beats a heart,

Grim as your own gaunt ships when duty calls,

Yet warm and gentle as your summer skies:

A Nation's heart that beats throughout a land

Where Kings may be beloved, and Monarchy

Can teach Republics how they may be free.

Ah! What has England done? When came the call,

She counted not the cost, but gave her all!

Vilda Sauvage Owens

By permission of the Author

Back from battle, torn and rent,Listing bridge and stanchions bentBy the angry sea.By Thy guiding mercy sent,Fruitful was the road we went—Back from battle we.If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,When against us men uprose and sought to work us harm,We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.Heaving sea and cloudy skySaw the battle flashing by,As Thy foemen ran.By Thy grace, that made them fly,We have seen two hundred dieSince the fight began.If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fightWe never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.Through the iron rain they fled,Bearing home the tale of dead,Flying from Thy sword.After-hatch to fo'c's'le head,We have turned their decks to red,By Thy help, O Lord!It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.Sixty miles of running fight,Finished at the dawning light,Off the Zuider Zee.Thou that helped throughout the nightWeary hand and aching sight,Praise, O Lord, to Thee.KlaxonBy permission of Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh

Back from battle, torn and rent,Listing bridge and stanchions bentBy the angry sea.By Thy guiding mercy sent,Fruitful was the road we went—Back from battle we.

Back from battle, torn and rent,

Listing bridge and stanchions bent

By the angry sea.

By Thy guiding mercy sent,

Fruitful was the road we went—

Back from battle we.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,When against us men uprose and sought to work us harm,We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,

If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,

When against us men uprose and sought to work us harm,

We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

Heaving sea and cloudy skySaw the battle flashing by,As Thy foemen ran.By Thy grace, that made them fly,We have seen two hundred dieSince the fight began.

Heaving sea and cloudy sky

Saw the battle flashing by,

As Thy foemen ran.

By Thy grace, that made them fly,

We have seen two hundred die

Since the fight began.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fightWe never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,

If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!

If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight

We never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.

Through the iron rain they fled,Bearing home the tale of dead,Flying from Thy sword.After-hatch to fo'c's'le head,We have turned their decks to red,By Thy help, O Lord!

Through the iron rain they fled,

Bearing home the tale of dead,

Flying from Thy sword.

After-hatch to fo'c's'le head,

We have turned their decks to red,

By Thy help, O Lord!

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,

But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;

It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,

When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

Sixty miles of running fight,Finished at the dawning light,Off the Zuider Zee.Thou that helped throughout the nightWeary hand and aching sight,Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

Sixty miles of running fight,

Finished at the dawning light,

Off the Zuider Zee.

Thou that helped throughout the night

Weary hand and aching sight,

Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

Klaxon

By permission of Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh

(March 27, 1918)

Looking back with pride on the unbroken record of your glorious achievements, asking you to realize that to-day the fate of the British Empire hangs in the balance, I place my trust in the Canadian Corps, knowing that where Canadians are engaged, there can be no giving way. Under the orders of your devoted officers in the coming battle, you will advance, or fall where you stand, facing the enemy.

To those who fall, I say: "You will not die, but step into immortality. Your mothers will not lament your fate, but will be proud to have borne such sons. Your names will be revered for ever by your grateful country, and God will take you unto Himself."

Canadians, in this fateful hour, I command you and I trust you to fight as you have ever fought, with all your strength, with all your determination, with all your tranquil courage. On many a hard-fought field of battle you have overcome this enemy, and with God's help you shall achieve victory once more.

(Sgd.)A. W. Currie, Lieut.-Gen. Commanding Canadian Corps

(March 28, 1918)

The little things of which we lately chattered—The dearth of taxis or the dawn of spring;Themes we discussed as though they really mattered,Like rationed meat or raiders on the wing;—How thin it seems to-day, this vacant prattle,Drowned by the thunder rolling in the West,Voice of the great arbitrament of battleThat puts our temper to the final test.Thither our eyes are turned, our hearts are straining,Where those we love, whose courage laughs at fear,Amid the storm of steel around them rainingGo to their death for all we hold most dear.New born of this supremest hour of trial,In quiet confidence shall be our strength,Fixed on a faith that will not take denialNor doubt that we have found our soul at length.O England, staunch of nerve and strong of sinew,Best when you face the odds and stand at bay,Now show a watching world what stuff is in you;Now make your soldiers proud of you to-day!Sir Owen SeamanReprinted by permission of London "Punch"

The little things of which we lately chattered—The dearth of taxis or the dawn of spring;Themes we discussed as though they really mattered,Like rationed meat or raiders on the wing;—

The little things of which we lately chattered—

The dearth of taxis or the dawn of spring;

Themes we discussed as though they really mattered,

Like rationed meat or raiders on the wing;—

How thin it seems to-day, this vacant prattle,Drowned by the thunder rolling in the West,Voice of the great arbitrament of battleThat puts our temper to the final test.

How thin it seems to-day, this vacant prattle,

Drowned by the thunder rolling in the West,

Voice of the great arbitrament of battle

That puts our temper to the final test.

Thither our eyes are turned, our hearts are straining,Where those we love, whose courage laughs at fear,Amid the storm of steel around them rainingGo to their death for all we hold most dear.

Thither our eyes are turned, our hearts are straining,

Where those we love, whose courage laughs at fear,

Amid the storm of steel around them raining

Go to their death for all we hold most dear.

New born of this supremest hour of trial,In quiet confidence shall be our strength,Fixed on a faith that will not take denialNor doubt that we have found our soul at length.

New born of this supremest hour of trial,

In quiet confidence shall be our strength,

Fixed on a faith that will not take denial

Nor doubt that we have found our soul at length.

O England, staunch of nerve and strong of sinew,Best when you face the odds and stand at bay,Now show a watching world what stuff is in you;Now make your soldiers proud of you to-day!

O England, staunch of nerve and strong of sinew,

Best when you face the odds and stand at bay,

Now show a watching world what stuff is in you;

Now make your soldiers proud of you to-day!

Sir Owen Seaman

Reprinted by permission of London "Punch"

(March, 1918)

As long as faith and freedom last,And earth goes round the sun,This stands—The British line held fastAnd so the fight was won.The greatest fight that ever yetBrought all the world to dearth;A fight of two great nations setTo battle for the earth.And one was there with blood aflameTo make the earth his tool;And one was there in freedom's nameThat mercy still should rule.It was a line, a living lineOf Britain's gallant youthThat fought the Prussian one to nineAnd saved the world for ruth.That bleeding line, that falling fence,That stubborn ebbing wave,That string of suffering human sense,Shuddered, but never gave.A living line of human flesh,It quivered like a brain;Swarm after swarm came on afreshAnd crashed, but crashed in vain.Outnumbered by the mightiest foeThat ever sought to putThe world in chains, they met the blowAnd fought him foot by foot.They fought his masses, falling back,They poured their blood like wine,And never once the vast attackSmashed through that living line.It held, it held, while all the worldLooked on with strangled breath;It held; again, again it hurl'dMan's memory to death.Bleeding and sleepless, dazed and spent,And bending like a bow,Backward the lads of Britain went,Their faces to the blow.And day went by, and night came in,And when the moon was goneMurder burst out with fiercer din,And still the fight went on.Day after day, night after night,Outnumbered nine to one,In agony that none may writeThose young men held the Hun.And this is their abiding praiseNo future shall undo:Not once in all those staggering daysThe avalanche broke thro'.Retreat, retreat, yea, still retreat,But fighting one to nine,Just knowing there was no defeatIf they but held the line.Ah, never yet did men more trueOr souls more finely wroughtFrom Cressy down to WaterlooFight as these young men fought;On whose great hearts the fate of allMankind was poised that hourWhich saw the Prussian War God fallAnd Christ restored to pow'r.The world shall tell how they stood fast,And how the fight was won,As long as faith and freedom lastAnd earth goes round the sun.Harold BegbieBy permission of the Author

As long as faith and freedom last,And earth goes round the sun,This stands—The British line held fastAnd so the fight was won.

As long as faith and freedom last,

And earth goes round the sun,

This stands—The British line held fast

And so the fight was won.

The greatest fight that ever yetBrought all the world to dearth;A fight of two great nations setTo battle for the earth.

The greatest fight that ever yet

Brought all the world to dearth;

A fight of two great nations set

To battle for the earth.

And one was there with blood aflameTo make the earth his tool;And one was there in freedom's nameThat mercy still should rule.

And one was there with blood aflame

To make the earth his tool;

And one was there in freedom's name

That mercy still should rule.

It was a line, a living lineOf Britain's gallant youthThat fought the Prussian one to nineAnd saved the world for ruth.

It was a line, a living line

Of Britain's gallant youth

That fought the Prussian one to nine

And saved the world for ruth.

That bleeding line, that falling fence,That stubborn ebbing wave,That string of suffering human sense,Shuddered, but never gave.

That bleeding line, that falling fence,

That stubborn ebbing wave,

That string of suffering human sense,

Shuddered, but never gave.

A living line of human flesh,It quivered like a brain;Swarm after swarm came on afreshAnd crashed, but crashed in vain.

A living line of human flesh,

It quivered like a brain;

Swarm after swarm came on afresh

And crashed, but crashed in vain.

Outnumbered by the mightiest foeThat ever sought to putThe world in chains, they met the blowAnd fought him foot by foot.

Outnumbered by the mightiest foe

That ever sought to put

The world in chains, they met the blow

And fought him foot by foot.

They fought his masses, falling back,They poured their blood like wine,And never once the vast attackSmashed through that living line.

They fought his masses, falling back,

They poured their blood like wine,

And never once the vast attack

Smashed through that living line.

It held, it held, while all the worldLooked on with strangled breath;It held; again, again it hurl'dMan's memory to death.

It held, it held, while all the world

Looked on with strangled breath;

It held; again, again it hurl'd

Man's memory to death.

Bleeding and sleepless, dazed and spent,And bending like a bow,Backward the lads of Britain went,Their faces to the blow.

Bleeding and sleepless, dazed and spent,

And bending like a bow,

Backward the lads of Britain went,

Their faces to the blow.

And day went by, and night came in,And when the moon was goneMurder burst out with fiercer din,And still the fight went on.

And day went by, and night came in,

And when the moon was gone

Murder burst out with fiercer din,

And still the fight went on.

Day after day, night after night,Outnumbered nine to one,In agony that none may writeThose young men held the Hun.

Day after day, night after night,

Outnumbered nine to one,

In agony that none may write

Those young men held the Hun.

And this is their abiding praiseNo future shall undo:Not once in all those staggering daysThe avalanche broke thro'.

And this is their abiding praise

No future shall undo:

Not once in all those staggering days

The avalanche broke thro'.

Retreat, retreat, yea, still retreat,But fighting one to nine,Just knowing there was no defeatIf they but held the line.

Retreat, retreat, yea, still retreat,

But fighting one to nine,

Just knowing there was no defeat

If they but held the line.

Ah, never yet did men more trueOr souls more finely wroughtFrom Cressy down to WaterlooFight as these young men fought;

Ah, never yet did men more true

Or souls more finely wrought

From Cressy down to Waterloo

Fight as these young men fought;

On whose great hearts the fate of allMankind was poised that hourWhich saw the Prussian War God fallAnd Christ restored to pow'r.

On whose great hearts the fate of all

Mankind was poised that hour

Which saw the Prussian War God fall

And Christ restored to pow'r.

The world shall tell how they stood fast,And how the fight was won,As long as faith and freedom lastAnd earth goes round the sun.

The world shall tell how they stood fast,

And how the fight was won,

As long as faith and freedom last

And earth goes round the sun.

Harold Begbie

By permission of the Author

(Field-Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, April 12, 1918)

Three weeks ago to-day the enemy began his terrific attacks against us on a fifty-mile front. His objects were to separate us from the French, to take the Channel Ports, and to destroy the British Army.

In spite of throwing already one hundred and six divisions into the battle, and enduring the most reckless sacrifice of human life, he has yet made little progress toward his goals.

We owe this to the determined fighting and self-sacrifice of our troops. Words fail me to express the admiration which I feel for the splendid resistance offered by all ranks of our army under the most trying circumstances.

Many among us now are tired. To those I would say that victory will belong to the side which holds out the longest. The French Army is moving rapidly and in great force to our support. There is no other course open to us but to fight it out.

Every position must be held to the last man. There must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall, and believing in the justice of our cause, each one of us must fight to the end. The safety of our homes and the freedom of mankind depend alike upon the conduct of each one of us at this critical moment.

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