MOTHERS

Through the vigils deep of the sable night
    A mother sits in grief alone,
For her sons have gone to the battle front
    And left on the hearth a crushing stone.
Beyond the stars that burn at night
    She sees God's arm in pity reach;
It counsels patience, love and faith,
    Heroic hearts and souls to teach.

The blue is spann'd and the tide goes out.
    And the stars rain down a kindlier cheer;
And the mother turns from this throne of grief
    To pierce the years with a joyous tear;
For duty born of a mother's heart
    Fills all the rounds of our common day—
Yea, sheds its joy in the darkest night,
    And fills with light each hidden way.

For Miss Ina Coolbrith.

IN THE TRENCHES

All day the guns belched fire and death
    And filled the hours with gloom;
The fateful music smote the sky
    In tremulous bars of doom;
But as the evening stars came forth
    A truce to death and strife,
There rose from hearts of patriot love
    A tender song of life.

A song of home and fireside
    Swelled on the evening air,
And men forgot their battle line,
    Its carnage and dark care;
The soldier dropp'd his rifle
    And joined the choral song,
As high above the tide of war
    It swept and pulsed along.

That night while sleeping where the stars
    Look down upon the Meuse,
Where Teuton valor coped with Frank,
    Where rained most deadly dews,
A soldier youth, in khaki clad,
    Rock'd where the maples grow,
Smiled in his dream and saw again
    The blue St. Lawrence flow.

For Miss Julia O'Sullivan.

THE CHRIST-CHILD

Across the waste, across the snow,
    O the pity! O the pity!
Past sentinel of friend and foe
    O the pity! O the pity!
Comes the Christ-Child clad in white
Through the storm-clouds of the night.
Bearing in His lily hands
Gift of peace to warring lands,
    O the pity! O the pity!

"Adeste fideles!" sing the choirs
    O the pity! O the pity!
Lurid flame the battle fires
    O the pity! O the pity!
Shepherds hear the heavenly song,
Mid the strife and piteous wrong;
Peace on earth but not of men,
Peace that knows not crime nor sin.
    O the pity! O the pity!

Lay your sceptres at His feet,
    O the pity! O the pity!
Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, greet,
    O the pity! O the pity!
Legions stretched in battle line,
Saw the star and knew the sign,
Yet forgot that Christ was born
Prince of Peace, on Christmas morn,
    O the pity! O the pity!

Christmas, 1914.

For Mrs. George McIntyre.

GOD'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT

What shall the coming year bring forth,
    O Lord, who rulest the land?
For the navies of the sea and air
    Are but stubble in Thy hand.
The battalions in the field go forth;
    They arm in mighty line;
Do they kneel to know Thy holy will?
    Have they asked from Thee a sign?

The kings invoke Thy holy name,
    In their carnage and their strife;
But the purple gift it was Thine to give
    Recks not of pity nor life:
For