red,
We'll ride against the enemy, for Victory lies ahead,
Aye! for the Empire—Victory that thou shalt help to bring.
And for the Allies Victory—on earth what greater thing!

THE CRY OF THE WOMEN

A new year dawning on a warring world!
And many fight, and many pray for peace;
But yet the roar of battle will not cease,
Still man against his brother man is hurled.

So we who wait—we women in our woe,
Who wait and work—who wait, and work, and weep—
For us there is no rest, for us no sleep,
As our sad thoughts are wandering grim and slow,

Across those dreary fields where far away
Our hero myriads bleed and burn and die,
We lift our hearts toward the pitying sky—
Dawns there no hope upon this New Year's day?

1915

CASSANDRA

Of all the luckless women ever born,
Or ever to be born here on our earth,
Most pitied be Cassandra, from her birth
Condemned to woes unearned by her. Forlorn,
She early read great Ilium's doom, and tried,
Clear-eyed, clear-voiced, her countrymen to warn.
But—she Apollo's passion in high scorn
Had once repelled, and of his injured pride
The God for her had bred this punishment,—
That good, or bad, all things she prophesied
Though true as truth, should ever be decried
And flouted by the people. As she went
Far from old Priam's gates among the crowd,
To save her country was her heart intent.
Pure, fearless, on an holy errand bent,
They called her "mad," who was a Princess proud.
"Alas, the City falls! Beware the horse!
Woe, woe, the Greeks!" Ah! why was she endowed
With this sad gift? Able to pierce the cloud
That veils the future,—in its wasting course
She could not stop the storm. Bitter the pain
When those she loved and trusted—weak resource—
Her prophecies believed not; when the force
Of all her pleading spent itself in vain.
Poor Maid! She knew no greater agony
When dragged a slave in Agamemnon's train.
And though she fell—by Clytemnestra slain—
She smiled on Death who eased her misery.
For oh—what grief to one of faithful heart
It is—to know the evils that must be.
Helpless their doom to make the imperilled see,
Unskilled to shield them from the fatal dart!

SONG OF SPRING

On every bush are roses blooming, everywhere the nightingale
To his love again is warbling plaintively his oft-told tale.
Now within our balmy garden dances the tall cypress tree,
And the poplar never ceases clapping his slim hands in glee.
From the height of every bough-tip you can hear the turtle sing,
With loud voice proclaiming gaily the glad coming of the spring.
On the head of the narcissus gleams as bright his diadem,
As the crown of China's Emperor decked with many a costly gem.
Here the west wind, there the north wind, in true token of their love,
At the feet of yonder rose lay treasure poured down from above.
All the earth with musk is scented, and musk-laden is the air.
Everything proclaims that daily now draws nearer spring the fair.

(Versified from a Persian paraphrase.)

LIFE AND DEATH

"Death after life" shall we sigh as we say it,
Sigh as if death were the end for us all,
Pale at the thought, as in silence we weigh it,
Yield our dull souls to it, bending in thrall?

"Life after death"—look ahead, weakling spirit—
Sure is the way to a world that is ours.
Death is fruition, why then should we fear it?
Death—the fruition of life's budding powers.

MAN OF TODAY

For thee he thought,
The Greek, who by the sea
Lay in his lithe-limbed grace, as dreamily
He gazed upon the sky begemmed with stars,
And pondered mysteries. Ah, few the bars
To stop that lofty spirit in its flight
Compared with those that lock our souls in night.
For thee he thought!
For thee he wrought,
The Tyrian, who of old
His rich web wove of purple dye and gold;
Whose little bark, outstanding many a storm,
To ruder lands the spirit and the form
Of Eastern culture bore. Ah! what we owe
To him today, let sage and poet show.
For thee he wrought!
For thee he fought!
The Saxon, who upheld
The freedom of our race; whose broad-ax felled
Imperial legions in the forest dim
Where loud his war-cry rang—a noble hymn
For manhood's victory over regal pride,
On the sad day when mighty Varus died.
For thee he fought!
For thee He taught!
The Nazarene who bore
The burden of the world, who by the shore
Of Galilee His words of wisdom spake
Whose life a pattern for our life we'd take,
Whose words, re-echoing to remotest time,
Shall lead us on toward a height sublime.
For thee He taught!
Man—man! thou heir of all the ages, thou,
Man of today! uplift thy drooping brow!
Think, work, fight, teach—thine heritage pass on
Tenfold increased. He'll reap who has foregone
Life's little, limited delights,—in measure
As selfless he has sown his earthly treasure.

THE FADING VISION

The vision fades—dome, pinnacle and tower,
All the white beauty of the lake-side dream,
The artist's ideal, the poet's theme
Vanish away. Yet for no fleeting hour

Was this proud fabric raised. The crumbling wall
Entombs not memory's treasure, and we hold
This truth dear as the miser his loved gold,
Dome, pinnacle and tower cannot fall.

No marvel this, that memory holds fast
Such beauty, passing beauty seen before,
The grace and charm of every clime and shore,
Strength of today, the glories of the past,

All met in one great whole—for not alone
Man's hand the wonder wrought, but soaring high
His spirit, like the bird that cleaves the sky,
Knew naught of obstacle from zone to zone.

Deathless his work. Age shall repeat to age
The story of the city by the Lake.
And as the waves that on the near sands break
Reach far-off shores, so on the pictured page

Throughout remotest time, serene in pride,
Wearing her crown of glory, shall be seen