Hello, Boys! | Page 9

from those star-spaces!?That is the reason why?God let so many die;?That the vast hordes of suffering hearts might wake?Mighty vibrations, and the silence break?Between the neighbouring worlds, and lift the veil?'Twixt life on earth, and life Beyond. All hail?To great Jehovah, Who has given life?Eternal, everlasting, after strife!
Veils, long black veils, you shall be bridal white.?Eyes, blind with tears, you shall receive your sight,?And see your dead alive in Worlds of Light.
IN FRANCE I SAW A HILL
In France I saw a hill--a gentle slope?Rising above old tombs to greet the gleam?From soft spring skies. Beyond these skies dwells hope,?But those green graves bespeak a broken dream.
There was a row of narrow beds, new-made;?Each bore a starry banner and a cross.?And each the name of one who, ere he played?His role of warrior, met earth's final loss.
They were so young, so eager for the fray!?And thoughts of glory filled each boyish heart,?When over dangerous seas they sailed away?To face the foe and play some splendid part.
But in the tedious toil, the dull routine?Which must precede achievement on the field,?Disease, that secret enemy with mean?Sly tactics, forced them to disarm and yield.
So they were buried on that hill in France,?Before their ears had heard the battle din;?Before life gave them its dramatic chance -?A lasting fame, or glorious death to win.
Yet, looking up beyond their graves of green,?I seem to see them wearing band and star;?Men are rewarded in the Worlds Unseen?Not for the way they die, but what they are.
AMERICAN BOYS, HELLO!
Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French?As along through France we go.?But the moments to us that are keen and sweet?Are the ones when our khaki boys we meet,?Stalwart and handsome and trim and neat;?And we call to them--'Boys, hello!'?'Hello, American boys,?Luck to you, and life's best joys!?American boys, hello!'
We couldn't do that if we were at home -?It never would do, you know!?For there you must wait till you're told who's who,?And to meet in the way that nice folks do.?Though you knew his name, and your name he knew -?You never would say 'Hello, hello, American boy!'?But here it's just a joy,?As we pass along in the stranger throng,?To call out, 'Boys, hello!'
For each is a brother away from home;?And this we are sure is so,?There's a lonesome spot in his heart somewhere,?And we want him to feel there are friends RIGHT THERE?In this foreign land, and so we dare?To call out 'Boys, hello!'?'Hello, American boys,?Luck to you, and life's best joys!?American boys, hello!'
DE ROCHAMBEAU
ON THE PRESENTATION OF AN AMERICAN BANNER TO CAMP ROCHAMBEAU BY THE MARQUISE DE ROCHAMBEAU AT TOURS, FRANCE, JUNE 1, 1918
Here is a picture I carry away?On memory's wall. A green June day,?A golden sun in an amethyst sky,?And a beautiful banner floating as high?As the lofty spires of the city of Tours,?And a slender Marquise, with a face as pure?As a sculptured saint: while staunch and true?In new-world khaki and old-world blue,?Wearing their medals with modest pride,?Her stalwart bodyguard stand at her side.
Simple the picture; but much it may mean?To one who reads into and under the scene,?For there, in that opulent hour and weather,?Two great Republics came closer together;?A little nearer came land to land?Through the magical touch of a woman's hand.?And once again as in long ago?The grand old name of de Rochambeau?Shines forth like a star, for our world to see -?Our Land of the Brave, and our Home of the Free.
AFTER
Over the din of battle,?Over the cannons' rattle,?Over the strident voices of men and their dying groans,?I hear the falling of thrones.
Out of the wild disorder?That spreads from border to border,?I see a new world rising from ashes of ancient towns;?And the rulers wear no crowns.
Over the blood-charged water,?Over the fields of slaughter,?Down to the hidden vaults of Time, where lie the worn-out things, I see the passing of kings.
THE BLASPHEMY OF GUNS
There must be lonely moments when God feels?The need of prayer -?Such lonely moments, knowing not anywhere,?In any spot or place,?In all the far recesses of vast space,?Dwells any one to whom His prayers may rise,?And then, methinks--so urgent is His need -
God bids His prayers descend.?He that has ears to hear, let him take heed,
For much God's prayers portend.
God flings His solar system forth to be
Finished by beings who befit each sphere.?Not ours to pry the secrets out of Mars;
Our work lies here.?To star-folk leave the stars.?There must be many worlds that give God care:
Young worlds that glow and burn,?Old worlds that freeze and fade.
This world is man's concern.?Methinks God must be very much dismayed,
Seeing the use we make of earth to-day,?While loud we pray.
Last night, in sleep, beyond the earth's small zone,?Adventurously my spirit went alone,?Past lesser hells and heavens, where souls may pause?To learn the meaning of death's larger laws,?Past