The Great War in Verse and Prose

". . . . . THAT HAVE NO DOUBTS" Once in a Belgian garden, (Ah, many months ago!) I saw, like pale Madonnas, The tall, white lilies blow. Great poplars swayed and trembled Afar against the sky, And green with flags and rushes, The river wandered by. Amid the waving wheat-fields Glowed poppies blazing red, And showering strange wild music A lark rose overhead. .    .    .    .    .    . The lark has ceased his singing, The wheat is trodden low, And in the blood-stained garden No more the lilies blow. And where green poplars trembled Stand shattered trunks instead, And lines of small white crosses Keep guard above the dead. For here brave lads and noble, From lands beyond the deep, Beneath the small white crosses Have laid them down to sleep. They laid them down with gladness Upon the alien plain, That this same Belgian garden Might bud and bloom again. F. O. Call By permission of the Author ". . . . . THAT HAVE NO DOUBTS" — Rudyard Kipling The last resort of Kings are we, but the voice of peoples too — Ask the guns of Valmy Ridge— Lost at the Beresina Bridge, When the Russian guns were roaring death and the Guard was charging through. Ultima Ratio Regis, we—but he who has may hold, Se curantes Dei curant, Hear the gunners that strain and pant, As when before the rising gale the Great Armada rolled. Guns of fifty—sixty tons that roared at Jutland fight, Clatter and clang of hoisting shell; See the flame where the salvo fell Amidst the flash of German guns against the wall of white. The sons of English carronade or Spanish culverin— The Danish windows shivered and broke When over the sea the children spoke, And groaning turrets rocked again as we went out and in. We have no passions to call our own, we work for serf or lord, Load us well and sponge us clean— Be your woman a slave or queen— And we will clear the road for you who hold us by the sword. We come into our own again and wake to life anew— Put your paper and pens away, For the whole of the world is ours to-day, And it's we who'll do the talking now to smooth the way for you. Howitzer gun or Seventy-five, the game is ours to play, And hills may quiver and mountains shake, But the line in front shall bend or break. What is it to us if the world is mad? For we are the kings to-day. Klaxon By permission of Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh ON THE RUE DU BOIS ( Written at Sailly, France, 1915 ) O pallid Christ within this broken shrine, Not those torn Hands and not that Heart of Thine Have given the nations blood to drink like wine. Through weary years and 'neath the changing skies Men turned their back on those appealing Eyes And scorned as vain Thine awful Sacrifice. Kings with their armies, children in their play, Have passed unheeding down this shell-ploughed way: The great world knew not where its true strength lay. In pomp and luxury, in lust of gold, In selfish ease, in pleasures manifold, "Evil is good, good evil", we were told. Yet here, where nightly the great flare-lights gleam, And murder stalks triumphant in their beam, The world has wakened from its empty dream. At last, O Christ, in this strange, darkened land, Where ruined homes lie round on every hand, Life's deeper truths men come to understand. For lonely graves along the countryside, Where sleep those brave hearts who for others died, Tell of life's union with the Crucified. And new light kindles in the mourner's eyes, Like day-dawn breaking through the rifted skies, For Life is born through life's self-sacrifice. Frederick George Scott From "In the Battle Silences"—By permission of the Author and The Musson Book Company, Limited, Toronto EXTRACT FROM "FEAR GOD AND TAKE YOUR OWN PART" ( February, 1916 ) The English navy was mobilized with a rapidity and efficiency as great as that of the German army. It has driven every warship except an occasional submarine, and every merchant ship of Germany off the seas, and has kept the ocean as a highway of life not only for England, but for France, and largely also for Russia. In all history there has been no such gigantic and successful naval feat accomplished as that which the seamen and shipwrights of England have to their credit during the last eighteen months. It was not originally expected that England would have much to do on the continent; and although her wisest sons emphatically desired that she should be ready to do more, yet this desire represented only a recognition of the duty owed by England to herself. To her Allies she has more than kept the promise she has made. She has given Russia the financial assistance that none but she could give; her money effort has been unparalleled in all previous history. Eighteen months ago no Frenchman would have expected that in the event of war England would do more than put a couple of hundred thousand men in France. She has already put in a million, and is training and arming more than double that number. Her soldiers have done their duty fearlessly and well; they have won high honour on the fields of horror and glory; they have shown the same gallantry and stubborn valour that have been so evident in the armies of France and Russia. Her women are working with all the steadfast courage and self-sacrifice that the women of France have shown. Her men from every class have thronged into the army. Her fisher folk, and her seafarers generally, have come forward in such numbers that her fleet is nearly double as strong as it was at the outset of the war. Her mines and war factories have steadily enlarged their output, and it is now enormous, although many of the factories had literally to build from the ground up, and the very plant itself had to be created. Coal, food, guns, munitions, are being supplied with sustained energy. From across the sea the free Commonwealths of Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, and the Indian Empire, have responded with splendid loyalty, and have sent their sons from the ends of the earth to do battle for liberty and civilization. Of Canada I can speak from personal knowledge. Canada has faced the time that tries men's souls, and with gallant heroism she has risen level to the time's need. Mighty days have come to her, and she has been equal to the mighty days. Greatness comes only through labour and courage, through the iron willingness to face sorrow and death, the tears of women and the blood of men, if only thereby it is possible to serve a lofty ideal. Canada has won that honourable place among the nations of the past and the present which can only come to the people whose sons are willing and able to dare and do and die at need. The spirit shown by her sister-commonwealths is the same. High of heart and undaunted of soul the men and women of the British Islands and of the whole British Empire now front the crisis that is upon them. Theodore Roosevelt From "Fear God and Take Your Own Part"—Copyright, 1916. By permission of George II. Doran Company TO THE MEMORY OF FIELD-MARSHAL EARL KITCHENER Born, June 24th, 1850 Died on Service, June 5th, 1916 Soldier of England, you who served her well And in that service, silent and apart, Achieved a name that never lost its spell Over your country's heart;— Who saw your work accomplished ere at length Shadows of evening fell, and creeping Time Had bent your stature or resolved the strength That kept its manhood prime;— Great was your life, and great the end you made, As through the plunging seas that whelmed your head Your spirit passed, unconquered, unafraid, To join the gallant dead. But not by death that spell could pass away That fixed our gaze upon the far-off goal, Who, by your magic, stand in arms to-day A nation one and whole, Now doubly pledged to bring your vision true Of darkness vanquished and the dawn set free In that full triumph which your faith foreknew But might not live to see. Sir Owen Seaman Reprinted by permission of London "Punch" KITCHENER OF KHARTOUM Weep, waves of England! Nobler clay Was ne'er to nobler grave consigned; The wild waves weep with us to-day Who mourn a nation's master mind. We hoped an honoured age for him, And ashes laid with England's great; And rapturous music, and the dim Deep hush that veils our Tomb of State. But this is better. Let him sleep Where sleep the men who made us free, For England's heart is in the deep, And England's glory is the sea. One only vow above his bier, One only oath beside his bed: We swear our flag shall shield him here Until the sea gives up its dead! Leap, waves of England! Boastful be, And fling defiance in the blast, For Earth is envious of the Sea Which shelters England's dead at last. Robert J. C. Stead From "Kitchener and Other Poems"—By permission of The Musson Book Company, Limited, Toronto KITCHENER'S MARCH Not the muffled drum for him Nor the wailing of the fife— Trumpets blaring to the charge Were the music of his life. Let the music of his death Be the feet of marching men, Let his heart a thousandfold Take the field again. Of his patience, of his calm, Of his quiet faithfulness, England, build your hero's cairn! He was worthy of no less. Stone by stone, in silence laid, Singly, surely, let it grow. He whose living was to serve Would have had it so. There's a body drifting down For the mighty sea to keep. There's a spirit cannot die While one heart is left to leap In the land he gave his all, Steel alike to praise and hate. He has saved the life he spent— Death has struck too late. Not the muffled drums for him Nor the wailing of the fife— Trumpets blaring to the charge Were the music of his life. Let the music of his death Be the feet of marching men! Let his heart a thousandfold Take the field again! Amelia Josephine Burr From "Life and Living"—Copyright, 1916. By permission of the Publishers, George H. Doran Company THE CROWN OF EMPIRE O England of our Fathers And England of our Sons, Along the dark horizon line The day-dawn glory runs, For Empire has been ours of old And Empire ours shall be— His grip is on the world to-day Whose grip is on the sea. O England of our Fathers And England of our Sons, Above the roar of battling hosts, The thunder of the guns, A Mother's voice was calling us, We heard it over-sea, The blood which thou didst give us Is the blood we spill for thee. O England of our Fathers And England of our Sons, Along the dark horizon-line The day-dawn glory runs, For golden Peace is drawing near, Her paths are on the sea,— He grips the hearts of all mankind Who stands for Liberty. Frederick George Scott From "In the Battle Silences"—By permission of the Author and The Toronto I HAVE A RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade; When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple blossoms fill the air— I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land, And close my eyes and quench my breath— It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow flowers appear. God knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed on silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear— But I've a rendezvous with Death, At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous. [E] Alan Seeger From "Poems by Alan Seeger"—Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the Publishers IN MEMORIAM Let pride with grief go hand in hand: They join the hallowed hosts who died In battle for their lovely land: With light about their brows they ride. Young hearts and hot, grey heads and wise, Good knights of all the years foregone, Faith in their England in their eyes, Still ride they on, still ride they on! By altars old their banners fade Beneath dear spires; their names are set In minster aisle, in yew-tree shade: Their memories fight for England yet. Let pride with grief go hand in hand, Sad Love with Patience side by side; In battle for their lovely land Not vainly England's sons have died! And well may pride this hour befit; For not since England's days began More fiery clear the word was writ: Who dies for England dies for Man! Helen Gray Cone From "The Post of Honour"—By permission of J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., Toronto GUNS OF VERDUN Guns of Verdun point to Metz From the plated parapets; Guns of Metz grin back again O'er the fields of fair Lorraine. Guns of Metz are long and gray, Growling through a summer day; Guns of Verdun, gray and long, Boom an echo of their song. Guns of Metz to Verdun roar, "Sisters, you shall foot the score;" Guns of Verdun say to Metz, "Fear not, for we pay our debts." Guns of Metz they grumble, "When?" Guns of Verdun answer then, "Sisters, when to guard Lorraine Gunners lay you East again!" Patrick R. Chalmers By permission of the Author VERDUN ( Spoken in the vault of the citadel of Verdun, September, 1916 ) I wish to tell you how glad I am that you asked me to sit at table with your officers in the heart of Verdun's citadel. I am glad to see around me those who have come back from battle, those who will be fighting to-morrow, and those who, with you, General, are sentries on these impregnable walls. The name of Verdun alone will be enough to rouse imperishable memories throughout the centuries to come. There is not one of the great feats of arms which make the history of France which better shows the high qualities of the Army and the people of France; and that bravery and devotion to country, to which the world has ever paid homage, have been strengthened by a sang-froid and tenacity which yield nothing to British phlegm. The memory of the victorious resistance of Verdun will be immortal because Verdun saved not only France, but the whole of the great cause which is common to ourselves and humanity. The evil-working force of the enemy has broken itself against the heights around this old citadel as an angry sea breaks upon a granite rock. These heights have conquered the storm which threatened the world. I am deeply moved when I tread this sacred soil, and I do not speak for myself alone. I bring you a tribute of the admiration of my country, of the great Empire which I represent here. They bow with me before your sacrifice and before your glory. Once again, for the defence of the great causes with which its very future is bound up, mankind turns to France. "À la France! Aux hommes tombés sous Verdun!" Rt. Hon. David Lloyd George FOR THE FALLEN With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables of home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night. As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain. Laurence Binyon By permission of the Author and "The Times", London IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. [F] John McCrae Reprinted by special permission of London "Punch" THE ANXIOUS DEAD O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear Above their heads the legions pressing on: (These fought their fight in time of bitter fear, And died not knowing how the day had gone.) O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar; Then let your mighty chorus witness be To them, and Cæsar, that we still make war. Tell them, O guns, that we have heard their call, That we have sworn, and will not turn aside, That we will onward till we win or fall, That we will keep the faith for which they died. Bid them be patient, and some day, anon, They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep; Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn, And in content may turn them to their sleep. John McCrae By permission of "The Spectator" EXTRACT FROM SPEECH OF RT. HON. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE ON BECOMING PREMIER ( December 19, 1916 ) .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . I should like to say one word about the lesson of the fighting on the western front—not about the military strategy, but about the significance of the whole of that great struggle, one of the greatest struggles ever waged in the history of the world. It is full of encouragement and of hope. Just look at it! An absolutely new Army! The old had done its duty and spent itself in the achievement of that great task. This is a new Army. But a year ago it was ore in the earth of Britain, yea, and of Ireland. It became iron. It has passed through a fiery furnace, and the enemy knows that it is now fine steel. An absolutely new Army, new men, new officers taken from schools, from colleges, from counting-houses, never trained to war, never thought of war, many of them perhaps never handled a weapon of war, generals never given the opportunity of handling great masses of men. Some of us had seen the manœuvres. A division which is now set to attack a small village is more than our generals ever had the opportunity of handling before the war. Compared with the great manœuvres on the Continent, they were toy manœuvres. And yet this new Army, new men, new officers, generals new to this kind of work, they have faced the greatest army in the world, the greatest army the world has ever seen, the best equipped and the best trained, and they have beaten them, beaten them, beaten them! Battle after battle, day after day, week after week! From the strongest entrenchments ever devised by human skill they have driven them out by valour, by valour which is incredible when you read the story of it. SUBALTERNS ( A Song of Oxford ) They had so much to lose; their radiant laughter Shook my old walls—how short a time ago. I hold the echoes of their song hereafter Among the precious things I used to know. Their cup of life was full to overflowing, All earth had laid its tribute at their feet. What harvest might we hope from such a sowing? What noonday from a dawning so complete? And I—I watched them working, dreaming, playing, Saw their young bodies fit the mind's desire, Felt them reach outward, upward, still obeying The passionate dictates of their hidden fire. Yet here and there some graybeard breathed derision, "Too much of luxury, too soft an age! Your careless Galahads will see no vision, Your knights will make no mark on honour's page." No mark?—Go ask the broken fields in Flanders, Ask the great dead who watched in ancient Troy, Ask the old moon as round the world she wanders What of the men who were my hope and joy! They are but fragments of Imperial splendour, Handfuls of might amid a mighty host, Yet I, who saw them go with proud surrender, May surely claim to love them first and most. They who had all, gave all. Their half-writ story Lies in the empty halls they knew so well, But they, the knights of God, shall see His glory, And find the Grail ev'n in the fire of hell. Mildred Huxley By permission of the Author THE SEARCHLIGHTS ( Political morality differs from individual morality, because there is no power above the State.—General von Bernhardi ) Shadow by shadow, stripped for fight The lean black cruisers search the sea. Night-long their level shafts of light Revolve, and find no enemy. Only they know each leaping wave May hide the lightning, and their grave. And in the land they guard so well Is there no silent watch to keep? An age is dying, and the bell Rings midnight on a vaster deep. But over all its waves, once more, The searchlights move, from shore to shore. And captains that we thought were dead, And dreamers that we thought were dumb, And voices that we thought were fled, Arise, and call us, and we come: And "search in thine own soul", they cry; "For there, too, lurks thine enemy". Search for the foe in thine own soul, The sloth, the intellectual pride; The trivial jest that veils the goal For which our fathers lived and died; The lawless dreams, the cynic Art, That rend thy nobler self apart. Not far, not far into the night, These level swords of light can pierce; Yet for her faith does England fight, Her faith in this our universe, Believing Truth and Justice draw From founts of everlasting law: The law that rules the stars, our stay, Our compass through the world's wide sea, The one sure light, the one sure way, The one firm base of Liberty; The one firm road that men have trod Through Chaos to the throne of God. Therefore a Power above the State, The unconquerable Power returns. The fire, the fire that made her great Once more upon her altar burns. Once more, redeemed, and healed and whole, She moves to the Eternal Goal. Alfred Noyes Reprinted by permission from the "Lord of Misrule", by Alfred Noyes. Copyright, 1915, by Frederick A. Stokes Company THE SEA IS HIS The Sea is His: He made it, Black gulf and sunlit shoal, From battered bight to where the long Leagues of Atlantic roll: Small strait and ceaseless ocean He bade each one to be: The Sea is His: He made it— And England keeps it free. By pain and stress and striving Beyond the nations' ken, By vigils stern when others slept, By many lives of men; Through nights of storm, through dawnings Blacker than midnights be— This Sea that God created, England has kept it free. Count me the splendid captains Who sailed with courage high To chart the perilous ways unknown— Tell me where these men lie! To light a path for ships to come They moored at Dead Man's quay; The Sea is God's—He made it, And these men made it free. Oh, little land of England, Oh, Mother of hearts too brave, Men say this trust shall pass from thee Who guardest Nelson's grave. Aye, but these braggarts yet shall learn, Who'd hold the world in fee, The Sea is God's—and England, England shall keep it free. [G] R. E. Vernède From "War Poems", by R. E. Vernède. By permission of the Publishers, Wm. Heinemann, London VOLUNTEER Here lies a clerk who half his life had spent Toiling at ledgers in a city gray, Thinking that so his days would drift away With no lance broken in life's tournament: Yet ever 'twixt the books and his bright eyes The gleaming eagles of the legions came, And horsemen, charging under phantom skies, Went thundering past beneath the oriflamme. And now those waiting dreams are satisfied; From twilight into spacious dawn he went; His lance is broken; but he lies content With that high hour, in which he lived and died. And falling thus he wants no recompense, Who found his battle in the last resort; Nor needs he any hearse to bear him hence, Who goes to join the men of Agincourt. Herbert Asquith By permission of Rt. Hon. H. H. Asquith EXTRACT FROM PRESIDENT WILSON'S MESSAGE TO CONGRESS ( April 2, 1917 ) We are now about to accept the gage of battle with this natural foe to liberty, and shall, if necessary, spend the whole force of the nation to check and nullify its pretensions and powers. We are glad, now that we see the facts with no veil of false pretence about them, to fight thus for the ultimate peace of the world and for the liberation of its peoples, the German people included; for the rights of nations great and small, and the privilege of men everywhere to choose their way of life and of obedience. The world must be made safe for democracy. Its peace must be planted upon the trusted foundations of political liberty. We have no selfish ends to serve. We desire no conquest, no dominion. We seek no indemnities for ourselves, no material compensation for the sacrifices we shall freely make. We are but one of the champions of the rights of mankind. We shall be satisfied when those have been made as secure as the faith and freedom of the nation can make them. Just because we fight without rancour and without selfish objects, seeking nothing for ourselves but what we shall wish to share with all free peoples, we shall, I feel confident, conduct our operations as belligerents without passion and ourselves observe with proud punctilio the principles of right and of fair play we profess to be fighting for.... We enter this war only where we are clearly forced into it because there are no other means of defending our rights. It will be all the easier for us to conduct ourselves as belligerents in a high spirit of right and fairness because we act without animus, not in enmity toward a people or with the desire to bring any injury or disadvantage upon them, but only in armed opposition to an irresponsible Government which has thrown aside all considerations of humanity and of right and is running amuck.... There are, it may be, many months of fiery trial and sacrifice ahead of us. It is a fearful thing to lead this great, peaceful people into war, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization itself seeming to be in the balance. But right is more precious than peace, and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest to our hearts—for democracy, for the right of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own governments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal dominion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shall bring peace and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last free. To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness and the peace which she has treasured. God helping her, she can do no other. FROM "VIMY RIDGE" ( April, 1917 ) .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . England, our mother, we, thy sons, are young; Our exultation this day cannot be Bounded as thine: but thou wilt pardon us, Thou wilt forgive us if we cry, "Now see! See now, our mother, these are they that clung Once to thy breasts, and are they not well sung?" .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . Aye, not since France herself first stood at bay, To conquer or to die on Marne's green banks, Driving at last across its crimsoned flood The flower of Germany in shattered ranks, Has there been crowded in a single day More breathless glory for heroic lay. England, our mother, once our boasting hear! And in thy streets let flags and banners fly! To drums and bugles let the people march While Vimy Ridge is shouted to the sky! .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . Thereafter of our pride let naught be said, Saving on stone, inscribed with but one line: Canada — Vimy Ridge —1917 Our hearts the tablets of a secret shrine: Though henceforth we shall lift a higher head Because of Vimy and its glorious dead. Alfred Gordon

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