Of quick-step or Strathspey: But he plays upon our heart-strings When he plays a Scottish tuneHear Jimmy Morgan And his old mouth-organ At "The Banks o' Bonnie Doon"! He has a twist upon his mouth, A twinkle in his e'e; A roguish air, A deil-ma-care, Like the Piper o' Dundee: Faith! we would dance thro' half o' France, And a' the trenches carry, If Jimmy Morgan On his old mouth-organ, Did but give us "Annie Laurie"! And when the war is over The war we mean to win And Kaiser Bill Has had his pill, And we boys march through Berlin; "Unter den linden" going, We'll need no pipes to blow Just Jimmy Morgan And his old mouth-organ, Leading us as we go! -"Highland laddie, Highland laddie; whar hae you been a' the day?"* *The Regimental March of the Black Watch. And when this life is ended, And Morgan gone aloft, He will not carp Tho' he get no harp, Nor trumpet sweet and soft; But if there be a place for him In the Angelic choir, Give Jimmy Morgan His old mouth-organ, And he'll play and never tire. -LANCE-CORPORAL JOSEPH LEE, in Ballads of Battle. CANADA TO ENGLAND Great names of thy great captains gone before Beat with our blood, who have that blood of thee: Raleigh and Grenville, Wolfe, and all the free Fine souls who dared to front a world in war. Such only may outreach the envious years Where feebler crowns and fainter stars remove, Nurtured in one remembrance and one love Too high for passion and too stern for tears. O little isle our fathers held for home, Not, not alone thy standards and thy hosts Lead where thy sons shall follow, Mother Land: Quick as the north wind, ardent as the foam, Behold, behold the invulnerable ghosts Of all past greatnesses about thee stand. -MARJORIE L. C. PICKTHall. THE SUPERMAN The horror-haunted Belgian plains riven by shot and shell Are strewn with her undaunted sons who stayed the jaws of hell. In every sunny vale of France death is the countersign. The purest blood in Britain's veins is being poured like wine. Far, far across the crimsoned map the impassioned armies sweep. Destruction flashes down the sky and penetrates the deep. The Dreadnought knows the silent dread, and seas incarnadine Attest the carnival of strife, the madman's battle scene. Relentless, savage, hot, and grim the infuriate columns press Where terror simulates disdain and danger is largess, Where greedy youth claims death for bride and agony seems bliss. It is the cause, the cause, my soul! which sanctifies all this. Ride, Cossacks, ride! Charge, Turcos, charge! The fateful hour has come. Let all the guns of Britain roar or be forever dumb. The Superman has burst his bonds. With Kultur-flag unfurled And prayer on lip he runs amuck, imperilling the world. The impious creed that might is right in him per sonified Bids all creation bend before the insatiate Teuton pride, Which, nourished on Valhalla dreams of empire unconfined, Would make the cannon and the sword the despots of mankind. Efficient, thorough, strong, and brave-his vision is to kill. Force is the hearthstone of his might, the pole-star of his will. His forges glow malevolent; their minions never tire To deck the goddess of his lust whose twins are blood and fire. O world grown sick with butchery and manifold distress! O broken Belgium robbed of all save grief and ghast liness! Should Prussian power enslave the world and arrogance prevail, Let chaos come, let Moloch rule, and Christ give place to Baal. -ROBERT Grant. VIVE LA FRANCE! Franceline rose in the dawning gray, And her heart would dance though she knelt to pray, For her man Michel had holiday, Fighting for France. She offered her prayer by the cradle-side, "But if I have two, then, by Mary's grace, Carry me safe to the meeting-place, Let me look once again on my dear love's face, Save him for France!" She crooned to her boy: "Oh, how glad he'll be, "Come, now, be good, little stray sauterelle, "Six days' leave and a year between! "Heaven and France." She came to the town of the nameless name, Fresh from the trenches and gray with grime, |