Hello, Boys! | Page 9

DIJON
I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast
Was at its loudest; when
there was no sound
From dawn to dawn, save soldiers marching past,

Or rattle of their wagons in the street.
When every engine whistle
would repeat
Persistently, with meaning tense, profound,
'We carry
men to slaughter' or 'we bring
Remnants of men back as war's
offering.'
And there in Dijon, the out-gazing eye
Grew weary of the
strife-suggesting scene;
But, searching, found one quiet spot hard by

Where war was not; a little lake whereon
Moved leisurely a stately,
tranquil swan,
Majestic and imposing, yet serene.
I was in Dijon, when no sound or sight
Woke thoughts of peace, save
this one speck of white,
Sailing 'neath skies of menace, unafraid

While silver fountains for his pleasure played.
Dear Swan of Dijon, it
was your good part
To rest a tired heart.
VEILS
Veils, everywhere float veils; veils long and black,
Framing white
faces, oft-times young and fair,
But, like a rose touched by untimely
frost,
Showing the blighting marks of sorrow's track.
Veils, veils, veils everywhere. They tell the cost
Of man-made war.
They show the awful toll
Paid by the hearts of women for the crimes,

The age-old crimes by selfishness ill-named
'Justice' and 'Honour'

and 'The call of Fate' -
High words men use to hide their low estate.

About the joy and beauty of this world
A long black veil is furled.

Even the face of Heaven itself seems lost
Behind a veil. It takes a
fervent soul
In these tense times
To visualise a God so long
defamed
By insolent lips, that send out prayers, and prate
Of God's
collaboration in dark deeds,
So foul they put to shame the fiends of
hell.
Yet One DOES dwell
In Secret Centres of the Universe -
The
Mighty Maker; and He hears and heeds
The still small voice of
soulful, selfless faith;
And He is lifting now the veil of death,
So
long down-dropped between those worlds and earth.
Yea! He is
giving faith a great new birth
By letting echoes from the hidden
places
Where dwell our dead, fall on love's listening ear.
Hearken,
and you shall hear
The messages which come 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