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Songs in the Whirlwind

By A. and E. Radford

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2

Dedication.

To all who sing the while their hearts may break,
Who question all the why of Human Pain,
These simple songs of Hope we dedicate,
Trusting we shall not ever seek in vain.
And to the mem'ry of each fallen son
Who lies beneath, whose blood has drenched the sod;
Truly their songs all ceased while scarce begun
Shall be made perfect afterwards with God.

5

PURPOSE.

If I can live that when I must depart
Someone may miss me for a kindly word.
A loving look, a smile of helpfulness,
I shall not live in vain. My purpose is
Not to seek wealth, or fame, or high degree,
But, working ever to some noble end,
Bring happiness to some soul's barren life;
To be the cherished comrade of the sad,
And be remembered but by kindly deeds.
And my reward—only to know this earth
Wherein I lived, and played, maybe has been
A little better for my sojourn here.

LOST SOULS.

Are the eternal skies for those
Alone whose hands have scattered flowers;
Who plucked, and gave the golden rose
To some poor soul whose weary hours
No gladness did disclose?
But for the good, for those whom love
Has fostered with a tender care;
Who always raised their eyes above,
Nor never knew the dark despair
That all our merits prove?
And could our hearts be light and gay
If some outside with bleeding feet
Strive on in vain thro' dark the day
To reach? Would Heaven be complete
If some had lost their way?
It cannot be! No man hath seen
That Heaven were only for a part
Of man! Or where could our faith lean
If God denied room in His heart
To all that might have been?
Through each new age throughout the vast
The voice of old eternal rings,
“Lo! I make all things one at last,
Your ransom was my sufferings,
And Death is ever past”!

6

THE HAPPY MAN.

Happy is he who lights his way
By simple faith in final good;
Who lives to bring about the day
Of Universal Brotherhood.
Whose life is one of service pure,
Who makes each merit more sublime
By forging friendships to endure
The sternest tests of storm and time.
Who makes simplicity his theme,
And is content to serve his king;
To sacrifice each cherished dream
To gain a world's awakening.
Whose knowledge is of things divine,
Whose wisdom is of heart and soul;
Who seeks to make his fineness fine,
Each perfect part a perfect whole.
Strong with the knowledge of deep things
He makes Humility his friend;
Wise with the wisdom of great kings
He serves his God unto the end.
And he, though owning nought of earth,
Shall stand erect above the sod,
Immantled with his noble worth,
A fit ambassador for God.

A SONG OF THE SEASONS.

God gave to us four seasons fair,
Four seasons of delight;
There's Spring with music in the air,
When all the world seems bright:
With blossoms blowing on the trees
To fairy airs and fresh'ning breeze,
And singing of the birds.
There's silent Summer all aglow
With fields of golden corn;
And liquid melodies that flow
To greet the rising dawn;
And gentle rain like silver strings
Of harps that sing of heavenly things,
And roses red and white.

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There's beauteous Autumn's golden dreams,
Her rivulets and rills,
And harvestide's full moon that beams
On purple mist-crowned hills;
When all earth's carpet of brown leaves
Rustles and sighs, and gently heaves
Beneath each breathing wind.
There's white-robed Winter's purity,
When all the birds have flown,
With snowflakes sighing sympathy
Lest we should feel alone;
The pageantry of glistening earth,
The wizardry of Winter's mirth,
'Twas given us all by God.

RECOMPENSE.

Tired hearts that sigh at every close of day,
That have but faith to live your simple part,
Think not your service vain, God shall repay
Your loyalty to the eternal heart.
Each kindly thought that's spoken to a friend,
Each smile of hope to cheer a heart that's sad
Shall bring true recompense to thee, and lend
A pleasure to the years to make thee glad.
Each act of kindness in the hour of need,
Each word of comfort to a soul grief-riven,
Alike shall bring to thee a worthy meed,
Is rendered unto man, and God in Heaven.

FAITH.

Dear guardian of the soul's immortal things,
Daughter of God, mantled with Love and Youth,
The ages pass but cannot break thy wings,
Thou silent witness of immortal truth.
Thou stand'st to-day between us and the grave
While centuries take toll of thee in vain;
Constant through ages dark, seeking to save
Mankind from sorrow, human death and pain.
Sister of Hope, of sweet-voiced Charity,
Only through thee to read the scroll is given;
God's gift to man that thereby he may see
Beyond the years the golden dawn of Heaven.

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A VIOLET.

I saw a fragrant violet
Half hidden by a stone, that let
A little shadow fall between
The sunlight and the grass so green.
The sparkling dew-drops cool and wet
Had kissed its petals, and were set
As if in them the office met
To guard this treasure none had seen,
This fragrant violet.
I stooped—and conscious of the debt
That man owes God, that we forget
So soon, the gifts of the unseen
Eternal heart and all they mean—
And plucked, but with no vain regret,
This fragrant violet.

THE WANDERER.

(To T. F. R.).

There is never an English sunset
You see in your walks abroad,
And never a restful twilight
Can the mystery land afford;
There is never a deep cool valley
Where the mists drift to and fro,
Or a dew-wet sloping hillside
Where the breezes roam and blow.
There is seldom a gray cloud sailing
O'er the sky's unbroken blue,
Or a whispering wet wind, laden
With the rain, and evening dew;
You are lost to the rolling moorland
With her voice of solitude,
Where the heather and the bracken
O'er the untrod paths are strewed.
There is never a skylark haunting
The granite skies at dawn,
While the last bright star is fading
In the breaking light of morn;
You may wander the great world's highways,
All its pain and pleasure prove,
But your soul knows no other dwelling
Than the hills of the lost land you love.

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THE BLIND SHEPHERD.

Set my feet upon the hills
Which of old they trod;
Leave me in the glimmering dawn
There, alone with God.
Let me feel the breezes blow
Round about my brow,
And the dews which washed the flowers,
I would feel them now.
Let me hear the streamlet's song
In the breaking light,
And the mavis singing there
With a pure delight.
Let me hear the branches sway,
Feel them with my hands,
And, my face towards the East,
In my pasture lands,
Let me feel the sunbeam strike
On my sightless eyes;
God still loves and lets me love,
'Tis my paradise.
Set my feet upon the hills
With my God and free;
Tho' the world to me is dark
Still my soul can see.

SLUMBER SONG.

Darling, good-night! Your tired eyelids close,
Weary of play your hands seek repose;
Dream voices floating out of the West
Call thee to golden rest.
Slumber, my darling, you shall not know
Ought yet of anguish, sorrow or woe,
Mother will guard thee, angels will keep
Watch o'er their loved one's sleep.
Whisper your prayer in your sweet tender voice,
Pray that the lonely heart may rejoice;
Angels shall carry thy prayer far away
Into the land of day.
Two little tears in your tender brown eyes,
Two lips that murmur two little sighs;
Slumber, my darling, morning shall bring
Flowers, and the birds that sing.

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TO A CHILD SLEEPING.

Slumber on, my child, and in your slumbers
Know no care in your pure, little world;
Seek not yet to speak in mournful numbers
Of some flame that round your life has curled.
Life! My child, you know not yet its sorrows!
Still to you 'tis as some fairy dream;
Slumber then, and dream of fair to-morrows,
How things are not real but only seem.
Peacefully you lie, how the remembrance
Comes so clearly back as I now gaze
On the face that bears so sweet a semblance
To a love I've lost, of former days.
Form, and face, and hair so sweetly curling,
Fair reminders of a joy now flown;
But your own sweet nature stills the whirling
Of my heart, I know you're still my own.
Still as fresh, as pure as Summer morning,
Like the dawn before the shock of noon;
Heedless of the night that follows dawning,
Of the shadows that shall gather soon.
Sleep, my child, I would not stir your dreaming
With my tears, my heart shall grieve alone;
Time enough when real takes place of seeming
For some word or deed to break your own.
Sleep on in your innocence and beauty,
Mindless of the world and all its cares;
Of its griefs, its joys, its irksome duty,
You have God, His love, me and my prayers.

THOUGHTS ON A DISTANT VIEW.

I will descend! yet ere I leave this spot,
Will turn again and take another glance
To where the sea foam breaks in long, white lines
Upon the beach below; or far away,
Boils up in distant points, like snowy tops
Of mountains, in the eddies of a flood.

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And let me look once more at the green plain,
And the small hills that dot the country-side,
O'er which, clothed with the shadowy robes of mist,
The giant storm is striding; and the town,
Whose long, dark streets, obscured and desolate,
Might well beseem some city of the dead
Seen from the misty distance. All the sky
Presents a gloomy aspect to the sight.
But stay! In yonder western heavens dark
One tiny speck of azure now breaks through
The clouds, and quivering like the lights of dawn
That strike along the sleeping world, and put
To flight the mists, which like the spell of night,
Hang phantom-like o'er every glade and dell,
The sunbeams find a passage, and go forth
Rejoicing through the tempest. As it dies,
On yonder darkest cloud that climbs the East,
And born, like hallowed hopes, of some fair world
We seek and all the trouble of this life,
The rainbow brightens forth. The newer hope,
God's promise unto man that still He reigns
Supreme above the storms and sorrows of the world;
To give our faith re-birth, that hope may still
Spring up eternal in the human breast.

ICHABOD.

A fallen chain of withered Autumn leaves
Drifts on forlorn, while silent mem'ry weaves
Strange figures in the mist
That decks with pearls the flowers the dewy eves
Have gently kissed.
Unlifted silence weaves a magic spell
Of sweet sad dreams, and the faint lightings tell
Of the approaching dawn;
A dead leaf hides a little pearly shell
That lies forlorn.
A broken blossom, all its beauty flown,
Hangs desolate beside an ancient stone;
The dews of yesternight
Have fallen on a grave that lies alone
In the gray light.

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The gloomy pool is stagnant, and the grass
Has overgrown the pathway where none pass,
The lights of dawn disclose
In a small ornament of Time-stained glass
A withered rose.
Only a sadder change each season brings
Unto this spot, a haunting sadness clings
About its paths untrod;
It seems the home of all forgotten things—
The home of God.

SOLILOQUY.

(To R. B.)

I found him in the shining of the stars,
I marked him in the flow'ring of his fields,
But in his ways with men I find him not.”
So many hearts are saddened by the grief
That shakes the world, and darkens all our sky,
That shakes our trust in Love, and our belief
In all the laws and creeds we live thereby;
So many souls are broken on the wheel,
So many lives are cast into the void;
So many hearts know nought but pain, and feel
The barrenness of life with Love destroyed.
Our feet now stumble where they firmly trod,
The new world's circle seems to grow more dim;
The soul stands still and seeks the face of God
Ere we can raise our dying trust in Him.
For everywhere the earth is strewn with graves,
And clothed with memories of Yesterday;
And everywhere the evergreen now waves
Above our Youth so early put away.
Dear lost companions of a rose-lit youth
Who sang the songs of childhood clear and pure,
What voice shall point the wisdom of this truth
And teach our souls this sorrow to endure?
O sad awakening! where is the faith
To bear us through this place of tombs? what sense
To see this life in sorrow's robing wraith
Gethsemane to some great recompense?

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Yet still the lily waves her pure cold bell,
The red rose blooms on many a sobbing shore;
Still are the west winds sighing all is well,
The twilights keep their tryst for evermore.
Yet still a song steals through the haunted air
While Death can laugh at triumph over Life;
The world is still as ever wholly fair,
And Nature laughs while rent with bitter strife.
Strange paradox of passion, pain and joy!
Who then shall read the riddle of it all?
What voice shall know the accents to employ
To lead us to the faith that shall not fall?
Shall we for ever yearn for ecstasies
That live in some vain world beyond our own?
And follow steadfastly the prophecies
That count for nought with every sad hour flown?
Shall we for ever seek elusive joys
That beat their wings beyond our futile reach?
For ever know the pain that loss employs,
And taste the lees of sad unuttered speech?
Were it not wise to slay the dream we love?
To banish all the longing from our eyes?
To break the pinions of the pure white Dove
That seeks some refuge in the darkened skies?
To stretch our arms ere it may be too late,
And grasp our Moment, even while it pass?
The supreme Hour, which, even while we wait
Lies half forgotten under the world's grass?
To laugh at Death that dreams eternally,
The victor of our earthly conquerings?
To lose the hope of Life supernally,
And drown the soul's immortal questionings?
Were it not wise to grasp this thing that flies
E'en now with Night unto forgetfulness?
Rather than seek the Dawn that may not rise,
The barren Promise, and the Emptiness?

14

The sad recurrence of a Joy denied,
The Unattainable, the still unborn;
Were it not wise Life's sorrowings to hide
In laughter for a Night and dead at Dawn?
To leave undreamed the dream of Life divine?
To turn our face from the dark gates of Death?
To seek to read no more the stars that shine,
The wondrous Sun, the Moon that answereth?
To cease our gazing through the curtained dark,
And laugh to-day although our hearts may break?
To stay our weeping as the souls embark,
And scorn the throne yea! for the sunset's sake?
To leave unknown the great Infinities,
And wrest no more the secrets from their grasp?
The wonders of the deep Eternities
Inviolate in their immortal clasp?
In one wild sweep of Passion that is Pain
To sink our burdens in the stream that flows
Into Forgetfulness—and back again
To mock the soul that thought it was the close?
To lay down all remembrance of past days,
And strip our robing cloak of memory?
To tread no more along the winding ways
That lead to God, and Wisdom's treasury?
For even we ourselves shall lie at last
In the gray earth washed by the summer rain;
Shall we not then forget the ruined Past,
The Happiness of Life, and all its Pain?
We know these things of Passion fair and fleet
Are but the torrent of the earth's desires;
Shall we then heed the sensuous voice and sweet
Or keep the soul's inviolate altar-fires?
With steadfast eyes still seek the veiled Ideal
Beyond all sorrow and all wisdom fair?
Or heed the voice across the centuries steal
“Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!”?

15

Howe'er it be, this one thing we all know,
The Spirit's dream into our keeping fell;
She triumphed when the Roman was laid low,
She lives to-day divine, invincible.
And she who saw the conquering Cæsar fall,
The immortal Soul, still keeps her sacred trust;
Our mortal dreams are hers, she makes them all
Divine while empires fall into the dust.
Born with the first creation's golden dawn,
Unconquered yet she knows not any rest,
By some austere, immortal strength upborne,
She keeps her secrets in a human breast.
Neglected often through forgotten years,
Tossed by man's fickle faith and unbelief,
As now, she knew sad smiles and bitter tears,
Made wise by pain and tender by her grief.
We kneel to-day before a crumbling shrine,
With eyes wherein flash lights of hope and pain;
We chant our elegies, and wreaths entwine
The altar till the Vision come again.
O Priestess in the temple of our God,
Bear us that we may scorn the earth's desires!
Help us to tread the path the dreamer trod,
To guard the ancient, holy altar fires!
Help us to seek the things divine, unseen,
To guard and keep unbroken all thy laws,
Even as thou thyself hast often been
The guardian of a dear forgotten cause.
Thou too hast thy disciples strong and fair,
And Faith the dearest, with the love-lit eyes,
Shall be our rod to climb the darkened stair,
Shall still our pain and make us our replies.
Still will we seek the beauteous shore of dreams,
And kill our passion with its sad, sweet shame;
Still will we hope although ofttimes it seems
The quiet end shall always be the same.

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These things touch not the soul, inviolate,
She walks a pilgrim o'er the blood-stained sod;
With Sorrow clothed, with Wisdom shall she wait,
Companioned by the silences of God.

SPRING.

As the first breath of dawn when shrouding night
Flies westward on her silent beating wings;
As the bright song of hope the skylark sings
When lost afar in the gray morning light:
As the wild thrill of joys our hearts requite,
As Youth's fair promise, as the life that springs
From his young heart, as the new hope that brings
A flush to every pallid cheek and white:
As the rebirth of every thwarted aim,
Of buried love, of every shattered dream;
As the faint scents of every fresh'ning wind
Which whispers of the land from whence it came;
As some fair maid whose wind-blown tresses stream,
Whose heart is free, so is the Spring I find.

AFFINITY.

Eternal Soul, mantled with Youth and Love,
O! white-winged dove with tireless beating wings,
Spirit that changes not with mortal things,
But dwells with constancy in realms above;
O! beauteous Ideal whereto we move,
Affinity long sought, whose finding brings
A peerless and perfected life that rings
With the sweet music of immortal love;
O! thou, secure against the raids of Time,
Towering above the wreck of mortal strife,
Spirit that makes the finite life divine,
Whose magic touch can make the mean sublime;
Reach out thy hands to me and give me life!
Reach out thy hands and bind my life to thine!

THE QUEST.

Man goes to battle against ancient kings,
More plainly still th' insistent war-cry rings
Across a strip of sea:
He goes to gather all the glorious things
Of victory.

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O not for nought men suffer grief and pain!
Neither the soul of mankind makes in vain
Its eloquent appeal
If through this calvary a race may gain
Its shrined Ideal!
Man who found God in all the works of Time
Shall still seek on, and, rising out the grime
Of earth and war, turn then
And find Him in more wondrous ways sublime,
His ways with men.

THE GODS OF WAR.

The gods of old are born again.
Clothed with a flimsy fresh disguise,
They pass over the fields of slain—
On blood-stained wings across the skies.
Once more man worships at the shrine
Of lesser gods than that great soul
That makes the finite more divine
As one by one the ages roll.
The old illusion haunts us still—
Our faith is but a weed at best—
That man can serve both good and ill,
That might by might can be suppressed.
The fairest flowers of our Youth
Upon the altar have been laid;
The purest gems of Hope and Truth,
Yet still the slaughter is unstayed.
The gods of old are born again
To rule the people's prisoned will;
The Gods of War have come to reign
Where Peace was wont her court to fill.
Back to the beast mankind must reel
If none arise to stay the flood;
Ages of light be dark, and feel
The pagan sacrifice of blood.
Then waking England rise and slay
The Gods of War who live to-day!

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THE PATRIOT.

Far across the tides of ocean, loved through years for ever past,
Lies a land for ever England, England ever to the last.
Where the wooded hills are soundless save for Nature's lyric tones,
And the brooklet babbling on by hanging boughs and mossy stones,
Where the mists trace mystic figures, deck with pearls the flowers and trees,
And the cornfield's golden ranks wave in the whispering western breeze.
Where the shadows intermingle with the sunlight as it falls,
Weaving phantom forms and figures in the dim lit wooded halls.
Ah! Remembrance leads us backward thro' the pathways of the mind,
And though memories may sadden yet they are not all unkind.
There I heard the Spring's first skylark heralding the rising dawn,
Bird and song to heaven rising, on the wings of Hope upborne.
There I saw the struggling sunbeam strike along the sleeping world,
When the shrouding night had vanished and the flags of day unfurled;
When the Earth rose from her slumbers, with the dews yet on the grass,
There I saw the last star fading, watched the light-winged swallow pass.
And I heard the birds that gathered from the quarters and the poles,
Heard a thousand songs of gladness from a thousand kindred souls;
Heard a thousand songs of Peace, of Hope, of Happiness and Truth,
Felt my being's pulses tingle with the promise of my Youth;

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When my future lay before me with the ages unexplored,
And I gazed upon the Past with all the knowledge that it stored,
There I sought for Truth and Beauty with the hope high in my heart,
Sought for Knowledge, Strength and Wisdom, stepped aside and lived apart.
And I saw the western heavens painted by an unseen hand,
With a skill surpassing knowledge and our power to understand;
Saw Orion burning ever like a lost world's funeral pyre,
Sinking while the shadows gather in a flaming sea of fire.
There I saw the clouds like mountains heaped in a majestic pile;
Black and purple fringed with crimson, calm and silent, mile on mile.
And I watched the mists approaching, merging into twilight dim;
Sun-kissed vapour weaving fancies still and subtle, strange and slim.
Dreams and visions! Mem'ry weaves them each fair form to me again,
Brings to me my happiest moments with a pleasant thrill of pain.
Many hours I live with Memory through the years of my Youth,
Every pensive moment bearing out the ever ageless truth;
Home is home the wide world over though its borders we may roam,
Fairest unto every wanderer when farthest from him home.
In the cells of Memory phantoms wander through the widowed hours,
Mourning Youth's dear lost companions and his palsied stricken powers.
O! the heart is only lonely when some happiness was known!
Only then does lone Remembrance wander forth to be alone!
Many a morning e'er the sunlight heralded another dawn
Did we witness Earth's awakening, heard the song just newly born.

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Many an evening while the shadows crept into the glowing West
Heard a song for perfect daytime, and a prayer for perfect rest.
And you ask, “Do we remember 'neath the heat of ancient suns,
O'er the parched and desert distance, in the hearing of the guns,
“But one Summertime in England, but one song so sweet and clear?
England, home of soul and spirit! England ever, ever dear!
“When at night we may be lying in the moon-lit Eastern land
Does Remembrance bring us sometimes just the pressure of a hand?
“Or maybe a smile of welcome, or a whispered farewell word?
Or the echo of a song, or of a music we have heard?”
Yes! we love her—mother love, unshaken always, ever rules—
After all the cynic's laughter, and the contumely of fools.
Constant thro' each sad shortcoming, seeking still her happiness;
And the faults her foes would publish cannot make us love her less.
But in spite of these, as well befits the sons of such a race,
Building on our love of Freedom, Piety, and Truth, and Grace.
Still you languish through the cycle of the season's ceaseless roll,
Knowing not if Right shall triumph, or if Peace has lost her soul.
Once again has rolled round Autumn with her sorrowful grey days,
Mingling elegies of sadness with the victor's hymn of praise;
Rolling earth in her cold vapours when the too short days decline,
And the sun retiring, leaves the cold though kindly stars to shine.
Soon shall come old white-robed Winter, purity is his alone,
And his mantle folds you, lonely, when the singing birds have flown.
Lonely? Aye! The country's remnant clings together round the fire
While the choicest sons of Britain fall in fighting Hell's desire.

21

They were all content to perish, dying each that Death may die,
Freedom's march of freedom hindered while she fights to save a lie.
Still we keep the narrow foreheads, and the gilded royal fools,
While they strew the earth with sorrow, using us to be their tools.
We had gained for us a freedom that had left the world aghast,
But the course of Time swerved backwards, in the Present as the Past.
Backward, ere we reached the summit, in a sickening, streaming curve,
Leaving us our ruined labours, and a palsied shattered nerve.
When our laughter reached its loudest o'er the laurels we had won
Broke upon us war, and rapine, Hell's high priest, the cultured Hun.
Now the Gods of War are reigning where the court of Peace was full,
And the battle rages fiercer after each momentary lull.
Gone are all the old companions of the Summers long ago,
Gone like mists of early morning in the noon-day's lurid glow.
Gone the comrades of our schooldays to the quarters of the sun,
Living some, and some are dying, some the final rest have won.
And the heathen we despised for his relation to the beast,
Of the myriad lives of nature nigh the least among the least;
For the carnage of his feastings, for his rites and narrow aims,
He can strip us our refinement, trample on our noble claims.
It is lowering to his level as we offer day by day
These the fairest of our children that our sin may pass away;
And the gods, whose righteous anger has provoked this punishment,
But the best will soothe their anger and procure its banishment.
Truth is almost Truth no longer; Goodness sorely wounded lies;
Hate and Envy feed on Knowledge; Wisdom pleading, pleading, dies.

22

Tiger madness is not muzzled, serpent passion is not slain,
Nature reels for man has fallen, fallen backward once again;
All the evils of dark ages clothed within a fresh disguise
Fly against our sun, and darken o'er our lightened skies.
What is left then of our temples? What of hope is left for man?
Sunk again in primal passion, vice, corruption in the clan?
Now while Death seem lord and master, Goodness stricken, and Love dead,
Hope shall glimmer thro' the darkness and the Gods of War be fled;
She shall fold us round with pity, linger with us to the last,
Comrade of a fairer Future, comrade through a darkened Past;
Far beyond the lawless striving, far beneath the sin and shame,
Lingers yet the spark immortal, glimmers yet th' eternal flame:
Hope is still the Heaven's high priestess, and a newer world shall rise
After all the shame and sorrow, under fairer purer skies.

IN MEMORIAM.

(To R. E. G., killed in action June 24th, 1916.)

He lies at rest beneath some foreign skies,
His great heart still'd, and cold the hand that mine
So warmly clasped and held, ere in that line
He stood; where now some gallant comrade dies.
He who resigned the hopes and dreams of Youth
To dwell within the shadow of Death's wings;
The soul to save of all immortal things,
To witness still for God's eternal truth.
Whose heart beat high with hope, who with firm tread
His feet upon the highway nobly set:
Thro' life, thro' death, ah! Heaven shall not forget
He followed still to where the pathway led.
Honour the brave who died, yet ever live
Immortalized; the pinnacle of fame
Shall be their throne; their deathless name
Shall show some unborn race how man can give.

23

How always shall the highest, noblest soul
Rise uppermost above this trammelled clay;
No earthly night shall mar their endless day
Who dwell with God, who make with Him one whole.

THE FAREWELL.

The paths part here; 'tis time to say farewell.
Your eyes are sad, and turned away from mine
To hide their pain; and all the bitter tears
That shake your soul, and rend your youthful heart.
Your lips are smiling bravely, yet I know
Lips have no language fitly to portray
Their sorrow, and the sad half-uttered thoughts.
You will reserve your tears for silent days;
Your sorrow for some unknown hour of ill.
You will be brave, and smile a fond good-bye;
But if I fall, as fall full well I may
In duty's cause, then let no dark despair
O'erwhelm thee in thy grief; let not thy faith
Be shaken in thy God, for we can see
But dimly now and not unto the end.
God's purpose is too great for mortal minds
To comprehend. We have but faith, and trust
That all we see as but a ruined world,
A fallen temple, or a shattered dream,
Is not all purposeless and all unknown
To the eternal mind; a sacrifice
Unto the lords of Hell. Some future age
Shall read the meaning clear of all our pain,
Of all our splendid blood so nobly shed;
And, reaping all the liberties we win,
Shall read it not as vain and purposeless,
But as the travail of a mighty soul
To bring forth great and lasting perfect good.
Thus if I die, have courage to believe
That nought can mar the splendour of Farewell.
It shall remain a sacred memory
Through all the years to come; a legacy
Bequeathed by one who loved, and loving, died.
I would not have you sorrow overmuch
That death may part us far a little while,
For it is but the end of mortal pain,
When sorrows cease, and shadows flee away;
The soul's rebirth within the realms of God,
And not the end of all things that we love.

24

Man has no fear for death, for unto him
It has become the gateway unto life;
Unto a full perfection with his God.
In serving man I serve my God and King,
And if He wills that I shall not return
To where I lived, and played, a careless child,
He shall remember all the sacrifice;
Our splendid youth upon the altar laid
That truth, and His own kingdom should prevail.
And now farewell! for night is ageing fast,
And I am called to leave you ere the day.
To-morrow, lonely, you must stand alone,
And lonely weep, and make your prayer to God,
And lonely wander forth to be alone.
And when despair has fallen, and your soul
By sorrow is laid bare, be steadfast then.
Be steadfast and gaze upward to the sky,
That you may find a greater strength your own;
That you may learn to sing in your despair
Some song of hope, to cheer the broken heart,
To light the path thro' life upward to God;
And find in Him some healing for your pain,
And for your soul eternal peace and rest.