Germany

By Marion Couthoy Smith.

Courtesy of the New York Times.

O LAND of music and of dream,
Your songs are dead!

O morning-rose, O twilight-gleam,
Forever fled!

Now, through your thunder-cloud of wrath,
We see but frenzy's aftermath-

Stark ruin following every path

Your legions tread.

Was this your dream—a baleful light

In stormy space?

Your soul a threatening shape of blight,

With hate-wrung face?

What madness moves you to rejoice

In women's woe in terror's voice?
Is this the music of your choice,
Your song of grace?

Now from your shattered flutes we hear

A long, harsh cry,

The note of passion and of fear,

That will not die:

And ever, on the desolate sea,

Your shamed and haunted ships must flee

Child-faces, floating silently

Under God's sky.

Out of Rome

By Clinton Scollard.

Courtesy of the New York Sun.

OUT of Rome they march as when
Scipio led his serried men,

While the cry of "Viva! Viva!"

Rings again and yet again.

They, in dreams of high desire,
Rousing them to holy ire,

On the Capitolian altars

Have beheld the vestal fire.

Rear and vanguard, first and last,
They have caught the virile, vast,
Emulous centurion ardor
From some legion of the past.

Win they laurel wreath or rue,
We must feel that this is true,

That the ancient Roman valor
Thrills through Italy anew!

Somewhere in France

By N. M. Towater.

"SOMEWHERE in France!" Once only pleasant dreams

These words could bring dreams of fair, cloud

less skies,

Of stately hills where ancient turrets rise,

Of terraced vineyards, rich with purple gleams, And there rose grand cathedrals, which the years Have linked with names age old, but honored still;

Thither went pilgrims, with their hearts a-thrill, Moved by great memories to prayers and tears.

But now, whenever these few words are said,
Swift comes a vision of embattled men,
Of crashing cannon, of fair fields dyed red,
Of ruined homes, where none may live again,
Of gas and flame in deadly, fiendish dance -
O God, protect those now "Somewhere in France."

A New Hymn of Hate

By Americus.

[With apologies to nobody.]

Courtesy of the New York Sun.

TEUTON or Slav, we hate them not;
We love them both, we hate them not.
Of all the names that come to our coast
And stay with us, we hate the most,
Of all the thousands, we hate but one,
Who makes himself two instead of one
With a hyphen!

He's known to us all, he's known to you all
By his bluster and bluff, by his distilled gall.
He takes the oath as American

But stays as he was as only he can.

Come, let us stand 'neath the starry
An oath to swear to, without a brag,
An oath of granite no wind can shake
An oath for Columbia's sons to take.
We will never forego our hate!
We have all but a single hate!

We love as one, we hate as one,

And we'll hate that guy till our race is run Whose allegiance is double - instead of oneWith a hyphen!

The Dago, the Pole, the Mick and the Jew,
They make Americans good and true;
German and Frenchman, and Englishman, too,
When they keep the faith as Americans do.
Turk or Spaniard, or Dane or Swede,
We are proud to add to our composite breed,
When they among us, that is "The Day"
When they put their former allegiance away.

But him we hate with a lasting hate!
We will never forego our hate!

Hate of the woman, and hate of the man!
Hate of the rooter, and hate of the fan!
Hate of the lovely suffragette!

Hate of the millions coming yet!

We love the thousands, we hate but one,
And that is the bifurcated son of a gun
With a hyphen!

Trumpets Calling

By Prof. Jno. Ward Stimson.

From The Christian Socialist, August 8, 1917. Used by

permission.

DAWN of Freedom breaking!

Day of Triumph nigh!

Tired hearts long aching,

See it in the sky!

Now the hopes of heroes

Coming to their own!
Russia's millions "rising"-
God is on his throne!

See the Ancient Orient
From those centuries dark
Casting off their vapors!
Soaring like the lark!

Hail to wakening China!
See Japan full grown!
Summoning up the nations,
God is on His Throne!

Cheer! O Cheer! Ye martyrs,

Prisoners of Hope!

Exiles, home returning,

Now your dungeons ope!

Cheer! Ye orphan children!

Cheer! Ye widows lone!

Lo! "The Bridegroom cometh "-
God is on His Throne!