impending fate;
    Do you hear the call of our Mother?

Do you hear the call of our Mother
    From over the sea, from over the sea?
To the little cot on the wind-swept hill;
To the lordly mansion in the city street;
To her sons who toil in the forest deep
Or bind the sheaves where the reapers reap;
To her children scattered far East and West;
To her sons who joy in her Freedom Blest;
    Do you hear the call of our Mother?

For Major-General Sir Sam Hughes.

HIS MISSION

"A German will teach Irish at the University of Illinois, beginning in February, when Dr. Kuno E. Meyer of the University of Berlin will become visiting professor of the Celtic language and literature."—Press Despatch.

Go back, dear Kuno, to the Poles and Alsatians,
    And teach them the language your nation has robbed;
Piece out their dreams of new glory and freedom;
    Bring joy to the hearts where the children have sobbed.
We love the old Celtic tongue, vibrant with music,
    As it speaks to our hearts thro' the chords of long years,
But we don't want your lessons, though laden with "Kultur,"
    From a land where Alsatians and Poles are in tears.

Go back, Herr Professor, your mission is ended,
    For, though your gifts are many, you are "ausgespielt";
Go back and receive your "Kreuz von Eisen,"
    For we don't like the way that you're "ausgebild't."
The stars that burn with the true light of freedom,
    In this giant new world, with its endless day,
Have nothing in common with your satellite planets,
    And care not to shine on your Eagle's prey.

For Dr. Douglas Hyde.

ACHILLES' TOMB

Achilles awoke in his ancient tomb
Hard by the coast of Troy;
He rattled his armor now full of dust
And rubbed his eyes like a boy,
As he gazed on the ships of the allied fleet,
Ploughing the seas from afar,
Bent on their course to the Dardanelles
'Neath the light of Victory's star.

"Why, I've been asleep," Achilles said,
"On the windy plains of Troy;
Three thousand years have turned to dust
With their maddening mirth and joy;
Yet it seems but a day since Ilium fell,
Since Sinon spun out his tale,
And the Greeks returned from Tenedos
With a light and prosperous gale.

"Three thousand years is a long, long time,
But I'll doze for a thousand more;
For I'm sick of the bluff of the Teuton hosts
And the gas from each army corps.
So lay me down in my ancient tomb,
Where the Phrygian winds sweep by,
And I'll dream of the days when heroes fought,
'Round the lofty walls of Troy."

For Very Rev. W. R. Harris, D.D.

THE CHRISM OF KINGS

In the morn of the world, at the daybreak of time,
    When Kingdoms were few and Empires unknown,
God searched for a Ruler to sceptre the land,
    And gather the harvest from the seed He had sown.
He found a young Shepherd boy watching his flock
    Where the mountains looked down on deep meadows of green;
He hailed the young Shepherd boy king of the land
    And anointed his brow with a Chrism unseen.

He placed in his frail hands the sceptre of power,
And taught his young heart all the wisdom of love;
He gave him the vision of prophet and priest,
And dowered him with counsel and light from above.
But alas! came