A^ss- /f/.s 
 
A 
 
PS 3543 
 .P655 
 U3 
 Copy 1 
 
 WAR POEMS 
 
 By MARIE VAN VORST 
 
 Published by 
 GAY & HANCOCK, LTD. 
 
 HENRIETTA STREET 
 LONDON 
 
 ddpyright. 
 
 Price Sixpence Net. 
 Profits in Aid of the Belgian Relief Fund. 
 
/4 
 

 To Arms ! 
 
 |HIS is the moment of great issues. Men 
 
 Are made to-day, while kingdoms rise 
 and fall. 
 
 Small souls are crushed with cowards 
 to the wall, 
 
 And petty interests never rise again. 
 
 To arms ! Where is the hesitation when 
 
 King, country and the land that bore you call ? 
 
 You who have bought a piece of land must go ; 
 
 You who have married a wife must leave her side ; 
 
 Let the dead bury their dead — for far and wide 
 
 One summons echoes all the islands through. 
 
 Peace sickens and the word has lost its charms. 
 
 Would you be missing, when the victors come. 
 
 From the glad ranks as they march proudly home ? 
 
 For King and for your country, arm ! To arms ! 
 
Send Tommy to the War! 
 
 lE'VE sent them 'cross the Channel and 
 they go and they go ; 
 For they are soldiers, dearie, with the 
 fife and the drum ; 
 And we must stay behind and make the bandages 
 and sew, 
 And wait for what the ships will bring us home .... 
 And Now's the time for women to shew their pluck and 
 nerve, 
 And bear whatever tidings war may bring ; 
 And Tommy's little English girl can best her lover serve 
 Who kisses him and blesses him and gives him to his 
 King. 
 
America to England. 
 
 jAIL, England ! We who stand and may 
 not serve, 
 We who must watch thy glory, cry to 
 thee 
 Our Aves and our Vales, thus to nerve 
 Thy Navy's strength as it puts out to sea. 
 
 Aliens ? We are thy sons and daughters born — 
 Of one blood ; dour defenders to the bone. 
 
 When we were torn from thee our breasts were torn, 
 And Liberty could heal the wound alone. 
 
 To-day afar we wait thy victories — 
 
 Children and lovers from across the wave. 
 
 Hail England ! We will call upon the seas 
 Thy prows with kisses of the foam to lave ! 
 
 Mother, we love thee and we give thee hail, 
 And thy staunch sons our brothers crowned shall be, 
 
 As, true to ancient history, they sail. 
 Great Queen, to the dominion of the sea. 
 
The Overseas Legions. 
 
 |HE children you have nurtured, Empress, 
 see — 
 They come to float your banners — shore 
 
 and shore, 
 Calm azure coast and islands multiflore 
 Suddenly team with living answer : We 
 Are ready, and if ever fiefs before. 
 Sons now, henceforth ! What orders. Majesty ? 
 
 Swarthy the bands, dark-brown and fine of limb — 
 Lo, like a cloud they rise against the sun. 
 And men shall hear, before the war is done, 
 How India chants the Empire's battle hymn. 
 Link upon link, until the chain is one. 
 They gather from the distant borders dim. 
 
 Heavy the wheat -fields lie beneath the heat 
 
 Of August suns, ungarnered. Strength and worth 
 
 Of vigorous labourer have all gone forth 
 
 The warlike tide of foreign field to meet. 
 
 Canada sends her farmers from the North 
 
 To harvest in for England living wheat. 
 
 The sea-brow'd islands hear the rolling drum. 
 As through the Empire's heart the shock is felt 
 Of war. And men forget that they have dwelt 
 Afar from England and they turn them home. 
 Africa leaves her herds upon the veldt. 
 What orders, England ? See, your legions come ! 
 
The American Volunteers. 
 
 [EUTRAL ! America, you cannot give 
 To your sons* souls neutrality. Your 
 
 powers 
 Are soveriegn, Mother, but past 
 histories live 
 In hearts as young as ours. 
 
 We who are free disdain oppression, lust 
 And infamous raid. We have been pioneers 
 
 For freedom and our code of honour must 
 Dry and not startle tears. 
 
 WeVe read of Lafayette, who came to give 
 
 His youth, with his companions and their powers, 
 
 To help the Colonies — and heroes live 
 In hearts as young as ours ! 
 
 Neutral? We who go forth with sword and lance, 
 A little band to swell the battle's flow, 
 
 Go willingly, to pay again to France 
 Some of the debt we owe. 
 
Louvain. 
 
 HE harvest moon hangs red as blood 
 Up in the August sky ; 
 Over the fertile wheat and rye ? 
 Over the Kaiser's harvest brown — 
 The living and the dead that lie 
 By German scythe cut down. 
 
 For this is the glorious, glistening 
 Time of the year when the peaceful sing 
 Harvest -home and the warm fields bring 
 Fruit in plenty for peasant and king. i 
 Look — where the war-mists sink and cling! 
 It is the Kaiser's harvesting ! 
 
 Youth and his beautiful brother Toil, 
 Science and Art and Thrift, 
 Fill the age with their precious gift : 
 To live in the calm years* long renown? 
 To lie in the mire and blood -red drift. 
 By German heel crushed down ! 
 
 For this is the glorious, glistening 
 Twentieth century. Let it ring 
 Down through the years, a curse to bring. 
 Till the memory rots with the hate they bring ! 
 Look — where the reddened war-mists cling! 
 It is the Kaiser's harvesting! 
 
The Disappointed Uhlan. 
 
 |Y brother Fritz has seen Termonde, 
 And all the country there beyond ; 
 And Franzel helped to sack Louvain 
 And saw the streets piled up with 
 
 slain 
 And houses with their roofs on fire : 
 But / have not seen Paris, Sire ! 
 
 The Prussian Guards have Brussels seen, 
 And marched the goose-step on the green 
 Of private park. The — th Hussars 
 Have seen old Antwerp 'neath the stars 
 Wait for the Zeppelin's murderous fire : 
 But / have not seen Paris, Sire ! 
 
 The Russians have seen Lemburg and 
 The forts where Posen's sentries stand ; 
 And what the Russians have not seen 
 Perhaps they'll tell us in Berlin, 
 With victors' pride and hearts on fire. 
 And / have not seen Paris, Sire ! 
 
 I came from far beyond the Rhine, 
 To see new lands, to drink strange wine, 
 To kiss strange women's lips and lay 
 Their lands waste, and their men to slay. 
 My friends saw Rheims Cathedral spire : 
 But / have not seen Paris, Sire ! 
 
 Und Du — who led us on, who drew 
 
 Us from our peaceful homes ? Ach ! Du, 
 
 Whose eyes with greed were fastened on 
 
 The great dome of Napoleon, 
 
 To crush a nation dared aspire! 
 
 Such monarchs have their Paris, Sire! 
 
To Belgium. 
 
 , , . And what of you, who bore the brunt 
 And horror of that mad advance ? 
 
 Who met the insolent affront 
 
 Of armies marching on to France ? 
 
 Who stood against the sword and spear, 
 And hail and rain of shot and shell, 
 
 Crying out : ** Brother, I am here. 
 Brother ! " — and stayed the living hell. 
 
 And what of you ? Then England spoke 
 And all her farthest Empire heard : 
 
 Living and royal she awoke 
 In answer to the kingly word. 
 
 And France ? Long years, long years shall tell 
 Her gratitude, who breathless drew 
 
 Her forces on ! — All shall be well, 
 Belgium, great brother, well with you. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 
 015 930 710 4