VICTORY ! Celebrated by thirty-ei^ht American Poets BROUGHT TOGETHER BY WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE Class -XISZ.^ Book ' ^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSHi VICTORYI YICTORY! Celebrated by thirty-eight American Poets BROUGHT TOGETHER BY WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT BOSTON SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY PUBLISHERS -^ge- Copyright, 1918 By the Boston Transcript Company Copyright, 1919 By Small, Matnard & Company (INCOBPOBATED) 4 1.^ J'^ THB UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. JUN 23 \m ^CI.A52e000 TO FERDINAND FOCH Le Mar^chal de France INTRODUCTION Lowell's great lines ring as true to-day as at the close of the Civil War: — Come, Peace ! not like a mourner bowed. For honor lost an' dear ones wasted. But proud, to meet a people proud. With eyes that tell o' triumph tasted ! We are humbly and profoundly grateful that now, as in the great crisis of the Civil War, America should have imposed peace with hand close gripping the sword hilt and with the flush in her face that shows her to be Victory's daughter. The nation has not been put to any such terrible trial as in the years that intervened between Sumter and Appomattox, and our service and our sacrifice have been small compared with the service and the sacrifice of France and of England. But be- fore it was too late we did find our souls ; before it was too late we definitely shook ourselves free from the crass and ignoble lack of spirituality which found expression in such phrases as being " too proud to fight," as wish- ing " peace without victory," and as having no concern with the causes and objects of the war that divided the powers of the pit from the powers of light. Our help was of vital consequence and turned the scale, and with blood and tears we purchased the right to range ourselves among those peoples who dared stand on the perilous heights of greatness for the sake of a lofty ideal. I am glad that there should be an effort to commemorate the great peace of triumph which we have helped to win vii by collecting what our singing men and singing women have written concerning it. Their poems must not merely remind us of the victory as a matter of vain- glory; but as a lesson for keeping our bodies and our souls trained to meet the new duties, and the old, old dangers that come with new faces. All experience is an arch, which does not mark the end of effort, but merely opens up new roads of trial and of adventure. At the end we did well ; our many and shameful short- comings in preparation and output of material were off- set by the gallant readiness with which by the milHon our young men sprang forward to shed their life's blood in the quarrel for right. But we must not treat what has been done as a matter merely, or indeed pri- marily, for boast fulness. On the contrary, let us learn the lesson in which long ago we should have been letter- perfect. Let us never again be guilty of the sin of the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin ; let us hereafter be ready in advance to defend our rights against alien foes with all our hardened might; and let us brace ourselves with steel-hearted resolution and with serene wisdom to grapple with the vitally important problems of peace — just as, if necessary, we will grapple with the problems of war. THEODORE ROOSEVELT. vm VICTORY! TO MARSHAL FOCH By Percy MacKaye AGNIFICENT, the hearts of hu- mankind Exult in joy of this immortal hour That makes us witness of the awful power Unleashed of liberty; but deeper- shrined Than joy our wonder iSj that out of blind Turmoil of peoples, and the twilight glower Of imminent chaos — pure as Giotto's tower Poised in the tempest — soars victorious Mind. Focus of freedom — Foch! Your mind has made Reason — religion's theme j, intelligence — An anthem rising from the blood-dark sod, Your brow — a temple where the world has prayed. Your brain — of myriad souls the single lens: A burning-glass, held in the hand of God. AU MARfeCHAL FOCH Par Percy MacKaye AGNIFIQUES, les coeurs des hommes Bondissent dans la joie de cette heure immortelle Qui frappe, en nous, le temoignage de puissance De la liberie furieu^e ... Mais, ancree plus profond que la joie, notre surprise emerveillee Voit, de Vaveugle ruee des peuples, Et du crepuscule d'un imminent chaos, s'elancer — aussi pur que le Campanile en equilibre dans la tem- pete — VEsprit victorieu^v, Foch! foyer de toutes nos franchises . . . Par ton esprit La raison devient source mystique, Uintelligence un chant, monte de Vherhe sombre de sang. Ton front, un temple oil le monde a prie, Et ton cerveau, un centre unique pour des dmes par myriades, — une lentille ardente, que tient la main de Dieu. Traduit en frangais par Pierre De Lanux, Haut-Commissariat de la Republique frangaise aux Etats-Unis, Washington, D. C. TO KING ALBERT By Josephine Preston Peabody \HE kings of earth are gathered and gone by! — Sing the four winds of heaven; and with them sing The high victorious tides that hourly bring In-rushing message of fresh victory. And from their places^ all the stars that cry *' Onward" to this worn world, with triumphing. Lean and take heed of one far, flame-lit thing ^ One human brightness in its sovereignty, O king and leader, of a mightier host Even than thine own, — at last to see thee stand Fronting the nations of this earth again! A king, a stronghold; — for the uttermost Far-follower after light with sword in hand; Defender of the Faith, — to hearts of men. TO FIELD MARSHAL SIR DOUGLAS HAIG By Edwin Francis Edgett BOM Scotland, country of grim Northern light. Whose valour down the centuries long road Unnumbered men has given to Em- pire's might. Into the battle's midst a soldier strode. Briton and Scot alike, he found his star. On world-flung missions of supreme unrest, Soudan, Natal and India called him far To long-sought visions of imperial quest. Tumultuous time made sure the threat of years. The war of wars went on with swift advance. His country summoned him to higher spheres. He answered, and the hordes were thrust from. France. Warrior and knight, a greater rank his gain, A peer of England and of earth's domain. TO GENERAL ARMANDO DIAZ By George Edward Woodberry HED roses through the soft Italian air. And strew his way with flowers! with laurel crown! Hunter, who brought the Imperial Eagle down. Flapping to death o'er Alpine sum- mits bare. And in the towering passes slew him there — The Austrian! with death and havoc thrown From shell-ploughed plain and violated town, Back from the isles of Venice to despair! Again the Mincio breathes the wind of fame. And with the proud Piave rears a crest Of victory in flood! sound, Rome, his name, DIAZ! and to the festal world proclaim Italia Madre, clasping to her breast. Redeemed, Dalmatia, Pola and Trieste! TO GENERAL PERSHING .:^ By Amelia Josephine Burr OU led our sons across the haunted flood Into the Canaan of their high desire — No milk and honey there, hut tears and blood Flowed where the hosts of evil trod in fire And left a worse than desert where they passed. Your eyes were clear to see the snares that lay Before those boyish feet that marched so fast — Your heart and hands were strong to clean the way. Charged with great cares, your soul did not forget The anxious women here across the sea. As might a father for his own, you met And fought an older foe than Germany. Now, now at last, back from the silenced guns. Crowned by our blessings you shall lead our sons! TO CARDINAL MERCIER By Charles Hanson Towne ^^^^y^^HEN the world rocked in the red tide of War, And darkness deepened on your tragic land. You cried your hatred of that evil hand That crushed to ashes all we builded for. In agony of heart and soul you swore The Hun should suffer for his burning brand And the black deeds his brood had foully planned. As from his face the awful mask you tore. You were the fearless spirit who could say Loud words of righteous anger to a world When in the tempest of despair it whirled. We needed you on that disastrous day. With flaming eyes and lip of scorn upcurled. Soldier of God, immortal Merder! TO GENERAL LEONARD WOOD By Corinne Roosevelt Robinson OUR vision keen, unerring, when the blind Who could not see turned, groping, from the light. Your sentient knowledge of the true and right Has won today the freedom of mankind. Honor to whom the honor, he assigned. Mightier in eccile, than the men whose might Is of the sword alone, and not of sight. You march beside the Victor host aligned. Had not your spirit led, our ardent youth Had faltered leaderless, their eager feet Attuned to effort for the valiant truth. Through your command alone, rushed to compete To hold on high the torch of Liberty, Great visioned soul, yours is the victory. 1918 By Scudder Middleton I OW they are watching us from cloud and wave. Out of the wind and sunbeam, from the dust, The love, the strength, the beauty that they gave Are pleading with our hearts to keep the trust. Shall we shout loud and wave the battle flag; Be thoughtless in the time of peace and let The old, black drums of War still call and brag Throughout the land? Shall we so soon forget The grace of flesh, the dancer in the brain. Audacities and dreams and all the truth Of speech and laughter that the crimson rain Shattered and took away from lovely youth? Shall we conceal this shame of War by pride, Remembering not the things for which they died? II Long held content within your seagirt home, America, you child of work and mirth. Now you have snapped the ancient bars to roam, A giant stripling, over all the earth. 10 Now all the glittering earth is yours to hold: The million-handed engines and the stone Piled Babel- wise and all the noisy gold, The proudest ships the world has ever known. O child, beware of your heroic part — The low Satanic voice is in your ears. Look long and deep into that giant heart. For what you do will make the waiting years! Not in defeat but in the hour of might Comes on the test that reads the soul aright. Ill Not now, the new Atlantis of our dream, But soon — dear, tired people everywhere ! The sun has pierced the smoke: the plow will gleam. The grain will climb again upon the air; The honest days will bring the work that heals Back to the village and the streets of stone ; There will be sweeter music from the wheels. For hands that make will be the hands that own. Lead on, brave spirits ! Not until we fight The battle of the mind will life be wise. Until we are no more afraid of light. We can not bring our Heaven from the skies. O I have heard the clear, new bugles blow Over the English lanes and Russian snow! 11 THE SMALL TOWN CELEBRATES By Karle Wilson Baker E tumbled out into the starry dark Under the cold stars; still the sirens shrieked. And, as we reached the square, two rockets hissed 1 And flowered : they were the only two in town. Down streamed the people, blowing frosty breath Under the lamps — the mayor and the marshal. The fire department, members of the band, Buttoning their clothes with one hand, while the other Clutched a cold clarionet or piccolo That shivered for its first ecstatic squeal. We had no cannon — we made anvils serve. Just as our fathers did when Sumter fell ; And all a little town could do, to show That twenty haughty cities heaped together Could not be half so proud and glad as we. We did. Soon a procession formed itself — Prosperous and poor, young, old, and staid and gay, Every glad soul who 'd had the hardihood To jump from a warm bed at four o'clock Into the starry blackness. Round the square — A most unmilitary sight — it pranced. Straggled and shouted, while the street-lamps blinked In sleepy wonder. At the very end Where the procession dwindled to a tail, 12 Shuffled Old Boozer. From a snorting car But just arrived, a leading citizen Sprang to the pavement. "Hallelujah, Boss! " We's w^hop de Kaiser!" " Well, you old black fraud," (The judge's smile was hiding in his beard) "What's he to you?" Old Boozer bobbed and blinked Under the lamps; another moment, he Had scrambled to the base about the post, And through the nearer crowd the shout went round, "Listen — Old Boozer's going to preach!" He raised His tranced eyes. A moment's pause. " O Lawd, You heah dis gemman ax me dat jes' now, ' What 's he to Boozer ' ? Doan he know, O Lawd, Dat Kaiser's boot-heel jes' been tinglin' up To stomp on Boozer? Doan he know de po', De feeble, an' de littlesome toddlin' chile Dat scream to Hebben when he tromp 'em down, Hab drug dat Bad Man right down off his throne To ebberlastin' torment? Glory, Lawd! De Lawd done drug de mighty from his seat! He done exalted dem ob low degree ! He sabe de spark from dem dat tromp it out! He sabe de seed from dem dat tromp it down! He sabe de lebben strugglin' in de lump ! He sabe de " Cheering, laughing, moving on, With cries of " Go it. Boozer! " the crowd swirled About his perch; but, as I passed, I saw A red-haired boy, who stood, and did not move, 13 But gazed and gazed, as if the old man's words Raised visions. In his shivering arms he held A struggling puppy; once I heard him say, " Down, Woodrow! " but he scarcely seemed to know He spoke. The stars paled slowly overhead ; The din increased ; the crowd surged ; but the boy Stood rapt. As I turned back once more, I saw Full morning on his face. And at the end Of our one down-town street, the laughing sun Came shouting up, belated, but most glad. November 11, 1918. 14 SOLDIERS, BEHOLD YOUR BEAUTY By Wilton Agnew Barrett i/gy^ ^ ^^ LOW, bugles, blow. Set the wild echoes calling — The stars and their troubles are fall- ing, falling, falling! Soldiers, behold your beauty. Roll, drums, roll, Fill the hills and hollows with thunder — The red stars have gone out, with their wonder, wonder, wonder! Soldiers, behold your beauty. With your bayonets aslant as you marched Were you like a moving ocean in the sun? With your bayonets fixed when you charged Were you like the pointed rain-lights of a storm? Beauty ringed you all about Wheeling her terrible rout, Terrible Beauty with her hair One great red flare Burning toward the heart of truth With the glory of your youth? Blow the bugle and roll the drum. Soldiers, behold your beauty. 15 There was the voice of the world calling to you. The voice of the world that was heaping the battle red ; The guns at dawn are shattering frost and dew, The guns at night are plowing and sowing the dead. Each man a seed for a spring to come. Blow the bugle and roll the drum. Each seed for a flower of truth. Through the furrows stride and come. Lie in a furrow and be dumb. The world is sowing youth! There was the shell-fire high against the sky, The thousand-fingered shrapnel hands Feeling for flesh and the warm flowers of blood. The little bullet hole like a red bud Upon the dusty forehead or the breast, The bayonet rent, the vermin, and the stench. The steel and gas-mown trench. There was the mighty going out of breath . . . Where your dead lay in still and level ranks Were they like an ocean sleeping in the sun? Beauty glimmered in the dews of death Like the sheen on windrows after storm? Beauty stood all shaken there Draping down her hair. Terrible Beauty in her truth Gazing with her burned-out eyes On the glory of your youth? Let not one corpse lie in the windless earth And not foretell to you a windy birth From out that death-impregnated black womb That is your beauty's tomb — 16 Birth of a spirit that shall cry, For what. For what, great God of Battles, what — But to show man a beauty that mu^st rot! Blow, bugles, it had to be, While the blood was going down to the sea. It is over, and man must climb Painfully back through the years, out of the slime. He must climb Till he comes to the place where he found the star And does not follow again the star But the truth in men as they are. It was not in his dream, it was not in his dream — Beauty so red was not in his dream. But beauty so red was lying in wait By his nature's gate That swings wider than his heart To let his lightnings dart — Show it to him, you beautiful ranks, With your blood-red art! Soldiers, behold your beauty. Behold your beauty, what it is — You who have looked on death by its tossing torch - Neither the sweet in woman's kiss. Neither the scorch. Nor hope nor glory nor anything That held a touch of starriness will be, Not even comfort as we 've thought of it, The thing it was, when you have learned. Answer your bugles, go and see. At the finish, enough if your travail has earned The power to love life utterly. 17 Blow, bugles, blow. Over the taken wall and away, beyond — Blow, bugles, blow. Run on, you beautiful troops, Till your fierce spirit droops In what vast realm of even plain And singing birds and waters and spring rain And unbefrenzied laughter and natural pain Such as the children of a new earth need — Falter not, you who bleed. Out of the trench they will come and speak the truth, The earth that was turned to mire they will then ap- praise, Name the beast that murdered glorious youth And chain his tired limbs to their wheel of days. They will fling the wreath from the bloody head of man, And strip his form and behold his little girth, Go back to the earth from which all things began. Forget the stars and fix their eyes on the earth. Spring shall come and the trees grow full of leaf, Man shall lie with woman and she increase, Autumn shall come and the term of life be brief, But man will mark that the leaves lie down in peace. 18 WILD WEATHER By Katharine Lee Bates ■^ GREAT wind sweeps Across the world, hurling to heaps Of gilded rubbish crowns and thrones, mere gleam And flicker of dry leaves in its fierce path, A wind whose very wrath Springs from white Alpine crests of thought and dream* What sword can quell An unleashed tempest, and compel Hush to the thunder, patience to the storm? The maddened blast that buffets sea and land Blows under high command, Rending and riving only to transform. May its wild wings Burst the old tanglement of things. Those withered vines and brambles that enmesh The leaping foot ! May its rough flail destroy Hedges that limit joy, Leaving, like rain, a silvery earth and fresh! Faith shall not quail For broken branches. Of the gale Time is a strong corrival and will win; When hurricane has done its dread behest. And forests are at rest, His quiet hand will lead the sunshine in. 19 THE SOLDIERS SAY By William Rose Benet ERIOD. down. The gilt goes flaking The terrible rod is chipped to wire. The crown Of the talking god is rusted a bloody brown. Tinkhng it falls with tinny din on the stone. Splendorous walls gape ruin all their own. Funerals endlessly circle the throne. In solemn wise this Thing created law. Put out its eyes and gabbled that it saw, Drilled hordes in lies and loosed them for our awe. Period, to the sentence graved in gold By brighter blood than ever sparkled of old From hearts that withstood, from flesh could grip and hold! From slow, sure brains, that saw and felt and slew The devil that reigns no more — the devil we knew With loathsome stains impossible — and true. But who fed grist to that black-as-midnight mill Of the Hypnotist? Many. The evil will Made truth as mist. Now that the guns are still, 20 There windrows lie of the brave he reaped Uke grass! The sun is high. The shrivelled shadows pass. Red Mockery fades like a ghost from the glass. . . . Overpowered power that willed the world its den, The Sorcerer's tower blown into mist again! Kneel, in this hour, to Men and souls of men! 21 AMERICA'S HOMECOMING V^ By Archie Austin Coates RAMP, tramp of men, Men of the East and West, Men of the North and South, From Maine and New Mexico, (They had said we were dead heart!) at Tramp, tramp of men Back from the pits of France, Back from the shambled towns — Out of the rain of blood. Rumble and lunge of guns Blundering down the ways, Sounding in avenues. Guns that had dragged the roads Of France of the million scars, Sloughing and slipping — and sucking through the mud. Straining on their chains With the crashing trucks. . . . Guns triumphant from France, Sullen and grim — long stilled. Men pouring back from France. . . . (They had said we were cravens all!) Tramp, tramp of men. . . . Men — and more of them after! Back to the Western woods, Back to New Hampshire hills; 22 Southerners, Georgia-bred Soft in their speech and eyes, Coming — coming — and coming — Men, and more of them after! Men that Manhattan gave — Men from Chicago and Butte, Men coming back to their desks But nevermore bhnd to the stars. . . • Men of blood and dreams, Men of purpose and pride. The march of a miUion men. And a million more of them after! Flooding the Eastern coast Is American vision and strength. Tanned from the suns of the steppes. Ruddy cheeks from Verdun, Muscles made at Mihiel . . . (And they'd said we were soft from gold!) Tramp, tramp of men, Men and the smell of men, Swinging shoulders of men. The sun on their bayonets. Sun on their flags . . . and scars ! Songs and the laughs of men, Thoughtful eyes of men And the crude, broad jests of the male. Tramp, tramp of men Fresh from the Flemish hell. Hot racing blood from the West, Red with the flame of Youth, Red with success and joy. 23 Glory, America men, America's heart full of song; America's head in the stars! America's thmidering force Wreathed and victorious, grand! And they said we were dead of soul! 24 VICTORY By Grace Hazard Conkling ^LL this is in our mind and mood: That Bruges has still a tower of bells ; That Venice tinted like her shells Shines on undimmed and unsubdued; That Alsace is a sunrise cloud Golden with glory of those men Who gave her back to France again ; That Lorraine speaks of France aloud; That Amiens stands against the night Picked out in stars ; that Paris lives ; That men no more like fugitives Need cringe and cower from the light! Of this and more our joy is made Who never in our joy forget That Belgium has not spoken yet. And for dead Rheims they have not paid! 25 FIFTH AVENUE AND GRAND STREET By Mary Carolyn Davies ^H>4 It 's " Grand Street," I know well, my shirtwaist says, -l^^^^wJvt ^ "^^^ shoes, and hat, but then, she didn't hear, Or she pretended not, for we were laying Our coats aside, and as we were so near. She saw my pin like hers. And when girls are Wearing a pin these days that has a star, They smile out at each other. We did that, And then she did n't seem to see my hat. I sat beside her, handling gauze and lint, And thought of Jim. She thought of someone too; Under the smile there was a little glint In her eyelashes, that was how I knew. I wasn't crying — but I haven't any Pride in it ; we 've a better chance than they To take blows standing, for we Ve had so many. We two sat, fingers busy, all that day. I 'd spoken first, if I 'd known what to say. But she did soon, and after, told of him, The man she wore the star for, and the way He 'd gone at once. I bragged a bit of Jim ; Who would n't who had ever come to know Him? When the girls all rose to go. She stood there, shyly, with her gloves half on, Said, " Come to see me, won't you? " and was gone. I meant to call, too, I 'd have liked it then For we 'd a lot in common, with our men Across. But now that peace is here again And our boys safe, I can't help wondering — Well, Will she forget, and crawl back in her shell And if I call, say "Show this person out"? Or still be friendly as she was? I doubt If Grand will sit beside Fifth Avenue Again, and be politely spoken to. We 're sisters while the danger lasts, it 's true ; But rich and poor's equality must cease (For women especially), of course, in peace. 27 THE WORD OF THE WIND By Louise DriscoU IND that carries the sound of bells Far out over the sea, Why do you bring the word of tears With the word of victory? Alas for the httle gray houses And slender poplar trees! And women who seek what is not found By any victories! Wind that speaks to the wings of birds And knows how they find their way. Where did you find your sorrow, Who should be glad today? In the eyes of little children. And in the eyes of men Who have looked upon such things As must not come again. Wind that travels the four great roads And searches the hearts of men, Now that the war is over shall We not be glad again? But still there is sound of weeping. And women with frightened eyes Are asking many a question "Where there are no replies ; 28 And the broken slaves come creeping With terrible tales to tell, So pity must walk with gladness, Still close to the brink of Hell. Wind that has spoken to all the flags And carried the souls of the dead, Take our pledge to the Freemen, They shall be comforted ! Over the flags and the tumult. This is the one glad voice. When Freemen speak to Freemen, Then may the world rejoice! Then shall the weary captives Lift up their heads and cheer. The women's tears shall be wiped away, And children unlearn fear. This is the cry of Nations As broken chains release. One red word for Freedom, And one white word for Peace! 29 THE NEW DAY By Fenton Johnson From a vision red with war I awoke and saw the Prince of Peace hovering over No Man's Land. Loud the whistles blew and the thunder of cannon was drowned by the happy shouting of the people. From the Sinai that faces Armageddon I heard this chant from the throats of white-robed angels: f'^^IISEr^r^LOW your trumpets, little children I From the East and from the West, From the cities in the valley, From God's dwelhng on the mountain. Blow your blast that Peace might know She is Queen of God's great army. With the crying blood of millions We have written deep her name In the Book of all the Ages; With the lilies in the valley, With the roses by the Mersey, With the golden flower of Jersey We have crowned her smooth young temples. Where her footsteps cease to falter Golden grain will greet the morning, Where her chariot descends Shall be broken down the altars Of the gods of dark disturbance. Nevermore shall men laiow suffering, Nevermore shall women wailing Shake to grief the God of Heaven. From the East and from the West, 30 From the cities in the valley, From God's dwelling on the momitain, Little children, blow your trumpets! From Ethiopia, groaning 'neath her heavy burdens, I heard the music of the old slave songs. I heard the wail of warriors, dusk brown, who grimly fought the fight of others in the trenches of Mars. I heard the plea of blood stained men of dusk and the crimson in my veins leapt furiously. Forget not, O my brothers, how we fought In No Man's Land that peace might come again! Forget not, O my brothers, how we gave Red blood to save the freedom of the world ! We were not free, our tawny hands were tied; But Belgium's plight and Serbia's woes we shared Each rise of sun or setting of the moon. So when the bugle blast had called us forth We went not like the surly brute of yore But, as the Spartan, proud to give the world The freedom that we never knew nor shared. These chains, O brothers mine, have weighed us down As Samson in the temple of the gods; Unloosen them and let us breathe the air That makes the goldenrod the flower of Clirist. For we have been with thee in No Man's Land, Through lake of fire and down to Hell itself ; And now we ask of thee our liberty. Our freedom in the land of Stars and Stripes. I am glad that the Prince of Peace is hovering over No Man's Land. 31 THE DUAL BIRTH By Richard Butler Glaenzer T the rumor of truce a glory of joy broke loose, A jubilant frenzy that made the earth tremble, That surged to the stars, snuffing out Mars. Tension found its excuse, reserve forgot to dissemble; Youth snapped convention's noose, old age grew young : The rumor was false, but true was the victory sung. False was the rumor, but real the triumph behind it; The false became true, for sterling the die that de- signed it. Then rapture took wing and rose on victorious pinions Whose flutter was music to the hearts which long had been breaking. Whose rush was a gentle caress to the bruised and the aching. Whose thunder was doom to the monarch of might and his minions. Oh, rapture took wing ; exultant, triumphant, it mounted ; Defeats were forgotten; only the victory counted: Not only victory over the brutal demented, Si But victory by the crusaders, America, France, England and Italy, all ancient friction repented, Now one with a cause where reason was one with ro- mance. True was the truce. God grant the truth of the peace ! God grant true vision to power, true courage to right! God hasten the dawn of the hour when hatred shall cease ! God end forever the nightmare that makes day night! God close and lock and seal forever the door On this terrible Hundred Years' War crushed into four! Body and soul the world of our fathers is changing: Systems, that fettered like ice, like ice in the spring Melt and are gone ; free currents rise rearranging Frontiers wherein true freedom shall be king. Man is reborn, re-souled. God make him worth The joy and anguish of this dual birth. 8S NOVEMBER ELEVENTH By Elizabeth Hanly THOUSAND whistles break the bonds of sleep With swift exultant summons wild and shrill; Impassioned tongues of flames toward heaven leap To tell us peace has come. The guns are still. A thousand flags have blossomed in the air Like poppies in a garden by the sea. Beyond the eastern hills a golden flare Foretells the day that broke on Calvary. Long-darkened Liberty uplifts once more Her torch on Belgium, Poland and Alsace And Flanders — on each desecrated shore. Slow dawns the sun; and on my mother's face The look, I think, that Mary must have worn In Galilee on Resurrection morn. S4 BUILDERS OF BABEL By Elias Lieberman HE builders of Babel have babbled their last for the ears of men; And their Tower of Curses has fallen, never to rise again. All through the blowy darkness they toiled at the hideous thing, While the bull-frogs croaked their chorus and the treacherous bat spread wing. With crumbling brick they fashioned, with rotting wood they wrought A Tower of Lies in the darkness, swift as a sinful thought. With hammer and saw they builded, with cunning and skill they planned A Tower of Lust in the darkness to dominate all the land. And it seemed to rise with their toiling, to rear its head to the skies, While the owl in the brooding darkness pierced the air with his cries. A wolf howled a dirge . . . and ravens circled the menacing head That rose in the wind-swept darkness like a ghost from the tombs of the dead. 35 But neither the bat nor the ravens, the frogs nor the screeching owl, Nor the blows of a thousand hammers, nor the plaint of the wolf-hound's howl Seemed half as weird in the darkness as the ape-like men who swung From pillar and ledge and girder, cursing with blas- phemous tongue. And the noise of their toil in the darkness, the welding of iron bars And the clatter of bolt and rivet went echoing up to the stars. But what is the use of iron and even of steel white-blue When the brick at the base is crumbling and the wood of the walls wears through? And what can avail the builders, though ever so hard they plod. When the souls of women and children bear witness against them to God? A flash from the sullen heavens, a bolt from the angry skies And the Tower of Hatred toppled never again to rise. The builders of Babel have babbled their last for the ears of men ; And their Tower of Curses has fallen, never to rise again. 36 SEW THE FLAGS TOGETHER ' \ By Vachel Lindsay RE AT wave of youth, ere you be spent Sweep over every monument Of caste, smash every high imperial wall That stands against the new World State, And overwhelm each ravening hate, And heal, and make blood-brothers of us all. Nor let your clamor cease Till ballots conquer guns. Drum on for the world's peace Till the Tory power is gone. Envenomed lame old age Is not our heritage, But Springtime's vast release, and flaming dawn. Peasants, rise in splendor And your accounting render, Ere the lords unnerve your hand! Sew the flags together. Do not tear them down. Hurl the worlds together. Dethrone the wallowing monster And the clown. Resolving only that shall grow In Balkan furrow, Chinese row, That blooms, and is perpetually young, That only be held bright and clear 37 That brings heart-wisdom year by year And puts this thrilling word upon the tongue: " The United States of Europe, Asia and the World'* " Youth will be served," now let us cry. Hurl the referendum. Your fathers, five long years ago, Resolved to strike, too late. Now Sun-crowned crowds Innumerable, Of boys and girls Imperial, With your patchwork flag of brotherhood On high, With every silk In one flower-banner whirled, — Rise, Citizens of one tremendous state. The United States of Europe, Asia and the World, The dawn is rose-dressed and impearled. The guards of privilege are spent. The blood-fed captains nod. So Saxon, Slav, French, German, Rise, Yankee, Chinese, Japanese, All the lands, all the seas. With the blazing rainbow flag unfurled. Rise, Rise, Take the sick dragons by surprise. Highly establish, In the name of God, The United States of Europe, Asia and the World. A MEASURE OF THE IMMEASURABLE By Benjamin R. C. Low ^mS»^^^^^ wo boys on crutches — leg off at the knee — In a quick crowd that squandered victory. Above, bare branches and November glow — The Twilight of the Gods : tin horns below. Saint Michael, done by Raphael, drives down On ugly Satan, fallen, all a-frown. Against good rock. He might be crawling there. Slimed from the sea-caves, not star-gleaned from air. But note his trident, supernatural strong : The height of God is proved in each bent prong. Two boys on crutches; not November skies. But great Saint Michael's glory in their eyes: A look, through rifts, where blinding flower-buds blow — The uncut floor of Heaven they know — they know; A look beyond raw mountain peaks of pain To that old Dragon quaking earth again. He reckoned with the numbered names of things. Telling his beads on scientific strings. It looped no Beauty or Divinity, That abacus, that wicked rosary. 39 Then, in the dawnlight of his chosen day, Waked, armed, thronged, sang, fought, bled, killed, con- quered — they. • •••••• The thick cloud clears, the dreadful storm bears by: Old stars, still, still, burn true; old faiths hold high. Nay! — voluble crowd, but there was Victory! The height of God — those legs off at the knee. 40 THE WORLD'S PEACE (To the Spirit of F. E. D.) By Edgar Lee Masters LORY to Joffre, glory to Haig, glory to Foch, Glory to Diaz, glory to Pershing for strength in battle For the glory of England, glory of Italy, glory of France, And the imperishable glory of America I But glory forever to Albert upon whose throne The foot of the giant Blunderbore tripped. And to Lloyd George, England's servant, glory; And to Clemenceau, faithful commoner of France. And glory to him who sounded the trumpet of Time As Luther did : We can do naught else. Here we stand, God help us! Glory to him Who rang the bell of Philadelphia, Not to our land, but to the world, proclaiming Liberty to the world and the peoples thereof! But glory and memory to the unseen, to those Who seem to sleep, yet live Through us and in us to instruct, command: To Milton, to Mazzini, Garibaldi, To Mirabeau, Voltaire, Rousseau, To Franklin, Jefferson, Paine, To Washington, to Jackson, to Lincoln 41 Through whom governments of the people have multi- plied And have not perished from the earth. But glory to all who strove in the realm of thought For liberty and peace and the right of life ; To those defeated, buffeted, misunderstood For the sake of Liberty. To Adam Smith, Henry George, Karl Marx, Shelley orating in Dublin and hooted, Camille Desmoulins firing and leading the mob; To all the world's fools, passionate hearts. Lovers of men. Upon whose cofiins rattled the clods Of the world's contempt. But glory to the nameless millions in all ages Who died to set us free, The infinite dust in the firmament of Time Through whom the Eternal Light Reflects its splendor to our eyes. And without whom the Eternal Light Had not lighted the darkness of the world! Eternal glory and memory to these — the youths. The countless millions Who sleep on the battlefields of Europe, And over this rolling globe of toil and hope! But glory to the immortal human heart Which fails not, is not cast down. Does not surrender, which flames forever The flame of liberty, consumed and yet remade. To the spirit of the human heart all glory Whose love feeds on the Past, 42 And drinks from sacred fountains, And dreams of heaven on earth; Sustains and soothes and builds, Transmits its treasures, is immortal Through hearts to be. And O ye to whom this day of tumult Will be the silence of the written page. Remember us! Be ye swift runners with the torch We hand to you! 46 NOVEMBER ELEVENTH By Ruth Comfort Mitchell W(- ^ .XP '^l^T^J ^ ^^^ three slim young wraiths that U met in the heart of a great play- '^p^I ground, / jUriVI ^^(j two of them watched the shining . .Nfw^ ,u^v iW| , sports in the fields that ringed them round, But one of them bent an earthward ear to follow a far- off sound. " Listen," he cried, " they know, down there! Oh, don*t you hear the bells?" " Not I," said one with a wise young smile. " I used to hear the shells. . . . Not now; oh, not for ages now! I came from the Dar- danelles." " I from the Marne," the third one sighed, " but these are only names. Eh bien, mon vieux, one must forget those little strifes and fames! Here is the host of Golden Lads who play at golden games." But the new boy ran to the turf's green rim and bent with an anxious frown, — 44 " It 's the curfew bell ! I hear them cheer ! It 's my little own home town! I hear my Dad! I can almost see — " and his eager gaze plunged down. " Soon, mon ami,'' soothed the dark-eyed wraith, "these teasing dreams will cease! One plays all day, one leaps the stars, one seeks the Golden Fleece!" Still the new boy turned his white young face from the Land of the Great Release — " But I was killed two hours ago, while they signed the terms of peace,'' 45 ON THE DAY OF ACHIEVEMENT By Edward J. O'Brien S their body was woven of stars, and their spirit was woven of light, So shall our body and blood be woven of day and of night. Day of the spirit's conquest, night of remembered pain. Earth and wind and water, flame and flowers and rain. Body and blood in the image of those who died for the gleam. Drifting dust like they, but drifting dust with a dream, Weaving the Mystical Rose out of laughter and labor and tears, Apart from them through the days, but one with them in the years. We are their will made flesh, and we are stern to com- mand That those whom they went forth to slay shall not rise transformed in our land. One with those who went down through the iron years to death, They rise again in our dream, as their dust is stirred with our breath, 46 And out of that generous dust the years shall blow not away Stirs the voice of undying youth, arisen once more to say: '* Judge not that ye be not judged; we carried the torch to the goal. The goal is won: guard the fire: it is yours: but remem- ber our soul Breathes through the life that we saved, when our lives went out in the night : Your body is woven of ours : see that the torch is ahght." 47 TO PEACE WITH VICTORY A By Corinne Roosevelt Robinson ?^C%^/^J^ COULD not welcome you, O longed- A. for peace, ^^ Unless your coming had been heralded ^(^ By victory! The legions who have bled M« '^9> Had elsewise died in vain for our release. But now that you come sternly, let me kneel And pay my tribute to the myriad dead, Who counted not the blood that they have shed Against the goal their valor shall reveal. Ah ! what had been the shame, had all the stars And stripes of our brave flag drooped still unfurled, When the fair freedom of the weary world Hung in the balance. Welcome then the scars! Welcome the sacrifice! With lifted head Our nation greets dear Peace as honor's right; And ye the Brave, the Fallen in the fight, Had ye not perished, then were honor dead! 48 THE NEW JESTER By Edwin Arlington Robinson OU that in vain would front the com- ing order With eyes that meet forlornly what they must, And only with a furtive recognition See dust where there is dust, — Be sure you like it always in your faces. Obscuring your best graces, Blinding your speech and sight. Before you seek again your dusty places Where the old wrong seems right. Longer ago than cave-men had their changes Our fathers may have slain a son or two, Discouraging a further dialectic Regarding what was new; And after their unstudied admonition. Occasional contrition For their old-fashioned ways May have reduced their doubts, and in addition Softened their final days. Farther away than feet shall ever travel Are the vague towers of our unbuilded state; But there are mightier things than we to lead us, That will not have us wait. And we go on with none to tell us whether Or not we 've each a tether 49 Determining how fast or far we go; And it is well, since we must go together, That we are not to know. If the old wrong and all its injured glamour Haunts you by day and gives your night no peace. You may as well, agreeably and serenely. Give the new wrong its lease; For should you nourish a too fervid yearning For what is not returning. The vicious and unfused ingredient May give you qualms — and one or two concerning The last of your content. 50 IN THE DAWN By Odell Shepard ing like a universal hymn /{ Under oceans, over mountains, to the world's remotest rim. Light! At last the deadly arrows of the Archer find their mark; Loathsome forms are shuddering backward to the shelter of the dark. Hope ! The nations stand together on the borders of a dawn That shall dim the noonday splendor of the ages that are gone. Peace, and light, and hope of morning! Let the belfries reel and sway While the world is swinging swiftly out of darkness into day. Let the forests of the steeples, blown by one compelling wind, Swing and sway and clash together all the songs of all mankind. While we roll up out of darkness, out of death, out of the gloom Of a blighted planet plunging blindly downward to its doom. $1 Into light beyond all dreaming, into peace, good-will towards men, Hope beyond the poet's vision, joy beyond the prophet's ken. Let us pile a fire, O brothers, ere the shades have shrunk away. Lest dark memories should mock us in the beauty of the day. Dotard thrones of crumbling empires, broken sceptres, twisted crowns. Tattered robes of state that wakened terror in the hearts of clowns — Pile the fire — -hut and palace, dens of vice and halls of crime. Prison-houses of the spirit, moated dungeons caked with slime. Cynic lies of politicians, secret treaties, pacts of shame . . . Heap them high and higher, give them to the purifying flame! As for those who stained the sea ways, fouled the earth and soiled the skies. Sneering down what men hold holy — we have crushed them in their lies, Sent them reeling, blind and broken, back into their noisome lair, To their nest of hissing serpents. Let them writhe and fester there. 52