How deep in undelivered night we go

How long on bitter paths we shall delay,

Held by thy bruteship from the Gates of Good. -GEORGE STERLING, in "The Binding of the Beast."

ECHOES

What is that which shakes the margin of the day Like the murmur of an ocean far away?

Can it be the heaven's thunder

Heard the far horizon under?

No: A hundred million freemen kneel and pray. Trust in God who made us free,

Hold the line for Liberty,

For a hundred million freemen kneel and pray.

Can it be the distant echo of the guns

Which behind the quiet sea-line rolls and runs?
Have our armies made an error?

Is it some new battle-terror?
No: America is calling to her sons.
Trust in God who made us free,
Hold the line for Liberty,

For America is calling to her sons.

What is that enormous murmur that we hear Past the distant bugle grieving high and clear? 'Tis the heart of a great nation

Grimly throbs with exultation

That the end of her long patience draweth near. Trust in God who made us free,

Hold the line for Liberty,

For the end of His long patience draweth near.

Is it throbbing, throbbing, throbbing of the drums In the ears of weary nations beats and hums? No: The tramp of mighty legions

Shakes the steady sunset regions:

'Tis America: SHE COMES, SHE COMES, SHE COMES. Trust in God who made man free,

Hold the line for Liberty,

For America, she comes, she comes, she comes.

-LOUIS TUCKER.

THE ROAD TO FRANCE

[Prize poem, in contest conducted by The National Arts Club, New York City.]

Thank God, our liberating lance
Goes flaming on the way to France!
To France-the trail the Gurkhas found;
To France-old England's rallying-ground!
To France-the path the Russians strode!
To France-the Anzacs' glory road!
To France-where our Lost Legion ran
To fight and die for God and man!
To France-with every race and breed
That hates Oppression's brutal creed!

Ah, France, how could our hearts forget
The path by which came Lafayette?
How could the haze of doubt hang low
Upon the road of Rochambeau?

How was it that we missed the way

Brave Joffre leads us along today?

At last, thank God! At last, we see
There is no tribal Liberty!

No beacon lighting just our shores,
No Freedom guarding but our doors.
The flame she kindled for our sires
Burns now in Europe's battle-fires.
The soul that led our fathers west
Turns back to free the world's opprest.

Allies, you have not called in vain;
We share your conflict and your pain.
"Old Glory," through new stains and rents,
Partakes of Freedom's sacraments.

Into that hell his will creates

We drive the foe-his lusts, his hates.
Last come, we will be last to stay,
Till Right has had her crowning day.
Replenish, comrades, from our veins
The blood the sword of despot drains,
And make our eager sacrifice
Part of the freely rendered price
You pay to lift humanity-

You

pay to make our brothers free.

See, with what proud hearts we advance

To France!

-DANIEL M. HENDERSON.

HYMN FOR AIRMEN

Lord, guard and guide the men who fly
Through the great spaces of the sky,
Be with them traversing the air

In darkening storm or sunshine fair.

Thou who dost keep with tender might
The balanced birds in all their flight,
Thou of the tempered winds be near,
That, having Thee, they know no fear.

Control their minds, with instinct fit
What time, adventuring, they quit
The firm security of land;

Grant steadfast eye and skillful hand.

Aloft in solitudes of space

Uphold them with Thy saving Grace.
O God, protect the men who fly
Through lonely ways beneath the sky.

-M. C. D. H.

A CROSS IN FLANDERS

In the face of death, they say, he joked-he had no fear: His comrades, when they laid him in a Flanders grave, Wrote on a rough-hewn cross-a Calvary stood near"Without a fear he gave

His life, cheering his men, with laughter on his lips." So wrote they, mourning him. Yet was there only one Who fully understood his laughter, his gay quips, One only, she alone—

She who, not so long since, when love was new-confest, Herself toyed with light laughter while her eyes were

dim,

And jested, while with reverence despite her jest
She worshiped God and him.

She knew-O Love, O Death!—his soul had been at

grips

With the most solemn things. For she, was she not

dear?

Yes, he was brave, most brave, with laughter on his lips, The braver for his fear!

-G. ROSTREVOR HAMILTON.

RAGTIME IN THE TRENCHES

Roll up, rally up!

Stroll up, sally up!

Take a tupp'ny ticket out, and help to tote the tally up! Come and see the Raggers in their "Mud and Slush"

revoo.

(Haven't got no money? Well, a cigaret'll do).
Come and hear O'Leary in his great tin-whistle stunt;
See our beauty chorus with the Sergeant in the front;
Come and hear our gaggers

In their "Lonely Tommy" song;

Come and see the Raggers,

We're the bongest of the bong.

Roll up, rally up!

Stroll up, sally up!

Show is just commencing and we've got to ring the ballet

up.

Hear our swell orchestra keeping all the fun alive, Tooting on his whistle while they dance the Dugout

Dive.

Come and see Spud Murphy with his double-ration smile,