For who would tarry when he calls,
To haggle at the heavy toll,
And render to ungrudging God
The insult of a niggard soul?

The Battle Hymn of the Republic

By Julia Ward Howe.

(With an added stanza by Henry Van Dyke.)

MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword;

His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred cir

cling camps;

They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;

His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:

"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with

his heel,

Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never

call retreat!

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg

ment-seat:

Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer him! Be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the

sea,

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and

me:

As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free

While God is marching on.

We have passed the cry of anguish from the victims of the Hun.

And we know our country's peril if the war lord's will is done

We will fight for world-wide freedom till the victory is won;

For God is marching on.

Tribute to America

From "The Revolt of Islam. By Percy B. Shelley.

THERE is a people mighty in its youth,

A land beyond the oceans of the west,

Where, though with rudest rites, Freedom and

Truth

Are worshiped. From a glorious mother's breast
Who, since high Athens fell, among the rest,
Sate like the Queen of Nations, but in woe,
By inbred monsters outraged and oppressed,
Turns to her chainless child for succor now,
It draws the milk of power in Wisdom's fullest flow.

That land is like an eagle, whose young gaze
Feeds on the noontide beam, whose golden plume
Floats moveless on the storm, and in the blaze
Of sunrise gleams when earth is wrapped in gloom;
An epitaph of glory for the tomb

Of murdered Europe may thy fame be made,

Great people! As the sands shalt thou become;

Thy growth is swift as morn when night must fade; The multitudinous earth shall sleep beneath thy

shade.

Yes, in the desert there is built a home

For Freedom. Genius is made strong to rear
The monuments of man beneath the dome
Of a new heaven; myriads assemble there
Whom the proud lords of man, in rage or fear,
Drive from their wasted homes.

Nay, start not at the name, America!

The Red Cross Flag

By Mary Martin Harrison.

EMBLEM of the greatest union,
Symbol of the highest good,
Hail! The promise of the ages ·
Wondrous Flag of Brotherhood!
Borne by mercy through war's horrors,
Raised by faith, by love unfurled,

Flag that serves no single country,
Splendid Red Cross of the World!

Raise the Flag, oh mighty Nations!
For the stricken world to see;
Bear it proudly through the future
In the crusades that must be.
As the Herald and the Token
Of the wonders of the Dawn,

It shall be the inspiration

Of the Nations yet unborn.

It shall stand for work with knowledge, Lab'ring for the common goodFor unselfish single effort

That shall raise the multitude. Stain it not with blood, oh Nations! Drench it not with bitter tears,

This the Flag above all others

That has bridged the hemispheres.

Guard it, serve it, bear it, love it,
Dare to follow in its light-
Immortal rainbow of the day,
Star of Hope in darkest night.
Underneath its rays all peoples
Meet as brothers, neutral, free,
All mankind shall hold it sacred
Red Cross of Humanity.

The Sign of the Red Cross

Translated from the French legendary poem "Le Brassard," of Vte. de Borrelli, by Harriet N. Ralston.

THE Goddess of Pity was winging her way
Afar to the field where a young soldier lay,-
(So humble a victim of War's cruel aim,
Yet Love's ministrations the wounded may claim!)

In touch of her fingers, the soldier found rest;
The Goddess again would continue her quest,
But paused, as she listened to murmurings low,-
The Name of this Angel, oh, would I might
know!"

She smilingly sought out a white linen band,-
All untaught in letters, yet deft was her hand,—
She dipped in his life-blood her finger so fair,-
And pressed the fine linen,-lo! Red Cross was
there!

The Daughters of France, loving legend, and charm, Now wear the Red Cross as a sign on their arm!