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speak from sea to sea,

Wherever the British Banner
And the Starry Flag float free.
For our
fettering chains are sundered
By the evil that turned to good,
And
Deep unto Deep has thundered
Its message of Brotherhood.
It was not a pageant of Victors -
Or a triumph hour of man,
That
ride through the bannered City,
It was part of a Mighty Plan;
And
the sound of old barriers falling
Rose there where those Rulers trod,

For Deep unto Deep was calling
In the resonant Voice of God.
THE SONG OF THE ALLIES
We are the Allies of God to-day,
And the width of the earth is our
right of way.
Let no man question or ask us why,
As we speed to
answer a wild world cry;
Let no man hinder or ask us where,
As out
over water and land we fare;
For whether we hurry, or whether we
wait,
We follow the finger of guiding fate.
We are the Allies. We differ in faith,
But are one in our courage at
thought of death.
Many and varied the tongues we speak,
But one
and the same is the goal we seek.
And the goal we seek is not power
or place,
But the peace of the world, and the good of the race.
And
little matters the colour of skin,
When each heart under it beats to
win.
We are the Allies; we fight or fly,
We wallow in trenches like pigs in
a sty,
We dive under water to foil a foe,
We wait in quarters, or rise
and go.
And staying or going, or near or far,
One thought is ever
our guiding star:
We are the Allies of God to-day,
We are the
Allies--make way! make way!
TEN THOUSAND MEN A DAY
All the world was wearying,

All the world was sad;
Everything was shadow-filled;
Things were going bad.
Then a rumour stirred all hearts
As a wind stirs trees -
Ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas!
Soon we saw them marching by -
God! what a sight! -
Shoulders back, and heads erect,
Faces full of light.
Smiling like a morn in May,
Moving like a breeze,
Ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas.
Weary soldiers worn with war
Lifted up their eyes,
Shadows seemed to fade a bit,
Dawn was in the skies.
Hope sprang to troubled hearts,
Strength to tired knees:
Ten thousand men a day
Were coming over seas.
France and England swarmed with them,
Khaki-clad and young,
Filled with all the joy of life -
Into line they swung.
Waning valour rose anew
At the sight of these
Ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas.

Still they come--and still they come
In their strength and pride.
Victory with radiant mien
Marches on beside.
Victory is here to stay,
Every heart agrees,
With ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas.
'AMERICA WILL NOT TURN BACK'
WOODROW WILSON
America will not turn back;
She did not idly start,
But weighed full carefully and well
Her grave, important part.
She chose the part of Freedom's friend,

And will pursue it, to the end.
Great Liberty, who guards her gates,
Will shine upon her course,
And light the long, adventurous path
With radiance from God's Source.
And though blood dye that ocean
track,
America will not turn back.
She will not turn until that hour
When thunders through the world
The crash of tyrant monarchies
By Freedom's hand down-hurled.
While Labour's voice from sea to
sea
Sings loud, 'My country, 'tis of thee.'
Then will our fair Columbia turn,
While all wars' clamours cease,
And with our banner lifted high

Proclaim, 'Let there be Peace.'
But till that glorious day shall dawn

She will march on, she will march on.
WAR
I
There is no picturesqueness and no glory,
No halo of romance, in war to-day.
It is a hideous thing; Time would
turn grey
With horror, were he not already hoary
At sight of this
vile monster, foul and gory.
Yet while sweet women perish as they pray,
And new-born babes are
slaughtered, who dare say
'Halt!' till Right pens its 'Finis' to the story!

There is no pathway, but the path through blood,
Out of the horrors of this holocaust.
Hell has let loose its scalding
crimson flood,
And he who stops to argue now is lost.
Not brooms of creeds, not
Pacifistic words
Can stem the tide, but swords--uplifted swords!
II
Yet, after Peace has turned the clean white page
There shall be sorrow on the earth for years;
Abysmal grief, that has
no eyes for tears,
And youth that hobbles through the earth like age.

But better to play this part upon life's stage
Than to aid structures that a tyrant rears,
To live a stalwart hireling
torn with fears,
And shamed by feeding on a conqueror s wage.

Death, yea, a thousand deaths, were sweet in truth
Rather than such ignoble life. God gave
Being, and breath, and high
resolve to youth

That it might be Wrong's master, not its slave.
Our road to Freedom is
the road to guns!
Go, arm your sons! I say, Go, arm your sons!
III
Arm! arm! that mandate on each wind is whirled.
Let no man hesitate or