Hello, Boys! Part 3

And we who can but dimly see the end Are guarded by their spirits glorified, Who help us on our way, while they ascend.

They are not dead--they are not dead, I say, These men whose graves we decorate to-day.

America and France walk hand in hand; As one, their hearts beat through the coming years: One is the aim and purpose of each land, Baptized with holy water of their tears.

To-day they worship with one faith, and know Grief's first Communion in G.o.d's House of Woe.

Great Liberty, the G.o.ddess at our gates, And great Jeanne d'Arc, are fused into one soul: A host of Angels on that soul awaits To lead it up to triumph at the goal.

Along the path of Victory they tread, Moves the majestic cortege of our dead.

Flowers of France in the Spring, Your growth is a beautiful thing; But give us your fragrance and bloom - Yea, give us your lives in truth, Give us your sweetness and grace To brighten the resting-place Of the flower of manhood and youth, Gone into the dust of the tomb.

OUR ATLAS

Not Atlas, with his shoulders bent beneath the weighty world, Bore such a burden as this man, on whom the G.o.ds have hurled The evils of old festering lands--yea, hurled them in their might And left him standing all alone, to set the wrong things right.

It is the way the Fates have done since first Time's race began!

They open up Pandora's box before some chosen man; And then, aloof, they wait and watch, to see if he will find And wake the slumbering G.o.d that dwells in every mortal's mind.

Erect, our modern Atlas stands, with brave uplifted head, And there is courage in his eyes, if in his heart be dread.

Not dread of foes, but dread of friends, who may not pull together, To bring the lurching ship of State safe through the stormy weather.

Oh, never were there wilder waves or more stupendous seas, Or rougher rocks or bleaker winds, or darker days than these.

Not Washington, not Lincoln knew so grave an hour of Time As he who now stands face to face with War's world-shaking crime.

His brain is clear, his soul is brave, his heart is just and right, He asks no honours of the earth, but favour in G.o.d's sight; His aim is not to wear a crown or win imperial power, But to use wisely for the race life's terrible great hour.

O Liberty, who lights the world with rays that come from G.o.d, Shine on Columbia's troubled track, and make it bright and broad; Shine on each heart, and give it strength to meet its pains and losses, And give supernal strength to one who bears the whole world's crosses; Take from his thought the fear of friends who may not pull together, And bring the glorious ship of State safe through wild waves and weather.

CAMP FOLLOWERS

In the old wars of the world there were camp followers, Women of ancient sins who gave themselves for hire, Women of weak wills and strong desire.

And, like the poison ivy in the woods That winds itself about tall virile trees Until it smothers them, so these Ruined the bodies and the souls of men.

More evil were they than Red War itself, Or Pestilence, or Famine. Now in this war - This last most awful carnage of the world - All the old wickedness exists as then:

But as a foul stream from a festering fen Is met and scattered by a mountain brook Leaping along its beautiful, bright course, So now the force Of these new Followers of the camp has come Straight from G.o.d's Source To cleanse the world and cleanse the minds of men.

Good women, of great courage and large hearts, Women whose slogan is self-sacrifice, Willing to pay the price G.o.d asks of pioneers, now play their parts In this stupendous drama of the age As Followers of the Camps.

They come in the name of G.o.d our Father, They come in the name of Christ our Brother, They come in the name of All Humanity, To give their gold, their labour, and their love To help the suffering souls in this war-riddled earth, The New Women of the Race-- The New Camp Followers - The Centuries shall do honour to their names.

COME BACK CLEAN

This is the song for a soldier To sing as he rides from home To the fields afar where the battles are Or over the ocean's foam: 'Whatever the dangers waiting In the lands I have not seen, If I do not fall--if I come back at all, Then I will come back clean.

'I may lie in the mud of the trenches, I may reek with blood and mire, But I will control, by the G.o.d in my soul, The might of my man's desire.

I will fight my foe in the open, But my sword shall be sharp and keen For the foe within who would lure me to sin, And I will come back clean.

'I may not leave for my children Brave medals that I have worn, But the blood in my veins shall leave no stains On bride or on babes unborn; And the scars that my body may carry Shall not be from deeds obscene, For my will shall say to the beast, OBEY!

And I will come back clean.

'Oh, not on the fields of slaughter And not in the prison-cell, Or in hunger and cold is the story told By war, of its darkest h.e.l.l.

But the old, old sin of the senses Can tell what that word may mean To the soldiers' wives and to innocent lives, And I will come back clean.'

CAMOUFLAGE

Camouflage is all the rage.

Ladies in their fight with age - Soldiers in their fight with foes - Demagogues who mask and pose In the guise of statesmen--girls Black of eyes with golden curls - Politicians, votes in mind, Smiling, affable and kind, All use camouflage to-day.

As you go upon your way, Walk with caution, move with care; Camouflage is everywhere!

THE AWAKENING

I said, 'I will place my heart, my heart all broken, Beside the world's torn heart, that it may know The comradeship of sorrow that is not spoken, But is carried on wings of all the winds that blow.

I will go homeless into homes of grieving, And find my own grief easier to be borne.'

So over menacing seas I went, believing Where all was mourning, I would cease to mourn.

And now I am here, close to the great world-sorrow, Here where each heart some mighty grief has known; But from each suffering soul I seem to borrow A poignant pain that but augments my own.

The earth is like one vast tempestuous ocean, Where struggling beings fight for light and breath: I feel their anguish, feel each keen emotion - Yet through it all, I KNOW THERE IS NO DEATH.

And as we toss on billows red with slaughter, Unto each tortured, anguished soul I cry, 'There are green lands beyond this raging water, We shall come into harbour by and by.

Our dead dwell near, life is a thing eternal: And I have talked with One from that fair sh.o.r.e.

We are but pa.s.sing through a dream infernal; We shall awake, we shall be glad once more.'

THE KHAKI BOYS WHO WERE NOT AT THE FRONT

Oh! it is not just the men who face the guns, Not the fighters at the Front alone, to-day Who will bring the longed-for close to the b.l.o.o.d.y fray, for those Could not carry on that fray without the ones Who are working at war's problems far away.

You are ALL our splendid heroes in the strife, And we cla.s.s you with the warriors maimed and scarred, Though you never have been near enough the battle din to hear, While you laboured in the dull routine of life In your khaki suits with sleeves that are not barred.