Hello, Boys! | Page 7

work
and true;
Though it be not done with banners all unfurled,
You will
find it has, in sight of God, sufficed.
While you carry back no medals when you go,
Not without you had
the fighters borne war's brunt:
So just lift your heads uncowed, for

your country will be proud And its lasting love and honour will bestow

On the khaki boys who were not at the Front.
TIME'S HYMN OF HATE
Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great, How bitter
and how black must be your self-invited fate,
While Time goes down
the centuries and sings his hymn of hate!
Time's voice is just. His words ring true. For as the past recedes,
The
clear-eyed Future slowly writes the story of its deeds; And as Time
toward the Infinite his ceaseless flight is winging
He shall go singing
The hymn of hate, of men and gods, for all your
deeds of lust, For all your acts of cruelty and hell-concocted schemes

(More hideous than the darkest plot of which a devil dreams) Which
sprang from your Medusa head before it touched the dust.
Beneath the strangling hand of Fate
That strident voice of yours

Shall hush to silence, soon or late
That Justice that endures
Will
mobilise its mighty ranks and free the human race,
Then shall all Space,
Yea, all the chains of sphere on sphere,
With
that loud hymn be ringing,
Which Time goes singing
His far flight winging
And all the
cherubims of God that dwell in regions o'er us
Shall swell the chorus.
Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great, How
desolate and dark must be your self-invited fate,
While Time goes
down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate!
DEAR MOTHERLAND OF FRANCE
DEDICATED TO THE
MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE

Our Motherland, dear Motherland,
The source of beauty and of Art,

Who but thy children understand
The love which permeates each
heart!
We see, through rainbow-tints of tears,
Thy glory of a
thousand years.
O country of the Great and Free,
We live for thee,
we live for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
O Motherland, both blithe and brave,
What magic lies in thy
name--France!
Yet can thy radiant mien be grave,
And stern thy
ever-smiling glance.
And when thy sons and daughters know
That
enemies would lay thee low
And dim thy fame on land and sea,
We
fight for thee, we fight for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
Dear Motherland of joy and mirth,
Dear Motherland of faith divine,

A thousand years the wondering earth
Has seen thy star in
splendour shine.
Still shall it see that star of France
Its splendour
and its light enhance.
Dear Motherland, when it need be
We die for
thee, we die for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
THE SPIRIT OF GREAT JOAN
Back of each soldier who fights for France,
Ay, back of each woman and man
Who toils and prays through these
long tense days,
Is the spirit of Great Joan.
For the love she gave, and the life she
gave,
In the eyes of God sufficed
To crown her with light, and power, and
might,
That made her second to Christ.
And so in that hour at the Marne she came,
To the seeing eyes of men;
And the blind of view still felt and knew

That her spirit had come again.
And she will come in each crucial
hour
And joy shall follow despair,
For Joan sees her France on its knees
And she hears the voice of its prayer.
There is no hate in the heart of France,
But a mighty moral force
That takes its stand for her worshipped
land,
And cannot be swerved from its course.
For this is the way with
France to-day,
Her courage comes from faith,
And she bends her knee ere she
straightens her arm;
In her forward rush toward death.
A jungle of beasts in the heart of the Hun -
War to the world laid bare.
And war has revealed, that France
concealed,
Only the lion's lair.
A lioness fighting to save her own,
She fights as a lioness can,
And strength to the end shall the Unseen
send,
In the spirit of Great Joan.
SPEAK
Obscured the sun, the world is dark;
Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc,
Send down thy spark.

Let every heart in France be stirred,
By such an all-compelling word
As thou once heard.
Say to each soul, 'Lo! I am near;
My voice still speaks in accents
clear.
Be still and hear.
'The France I saved can not be lost;
Though tempest-torn and
terror-tossed,
Count not the cost.
'Give as the maid of Domremy
Gave all--gave life itself to see
Her country free.
'Back of great France my spirit towers
To aid her through the darkest
hours
With God's own powers!'
Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc,
Shine through the night, speak through
the dark
The while we hark.
THE GIRL OF THE U.S.A.
Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine,
And I think every fellow will state
That the 'what-you-may-call-it'
coiffured way
They put up their hair is great!
And they know how