Wide Islam presses; well its peoples know

Thy heights that watch them wandering be

low;

7

I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound.
turn, and meet the cruel, turbaned face.
England, 't is sweet to be so much thy son!
I feel the conqueror in my blood and race;
Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day
Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun
Startles the desert over Africa!

II

14

Thou art the rock of empire, set mid-seas
Between the East and West, that God has built;
Advance thy Roman borders where thou wilt,
While run thy armies true with His decrees.
Law, justice, liberty-great gifts are these;

Watch that they spread where English blood is spilt,

Lest, mixed and sullied with his country's guilt, 7 The soldier's life-stream flow, and Heaven displease!

Two swords there are; one naked, apt to smite, Thy blade of war; and, battle-storied, one Rejoices in the sheath, and hides from light. American I am; would wars were done!

Now westward, look, my country bids goodnight

Peace to the world from ports without a gun! 14

George Edward Woodberry.

RESURGAM*

I

Now is a great and shining company,
Choired like stars before the break of day,
So radiant, their silence is like singing,
Like mist of music down the Milky Way;
And they who wake, hearing the dawn wind bring-
ing

Comfort of voices, are content and stay

A little while their tears, forbear the clinging
Of hands that hinder youth at last made free.

5

10

There is no death, nor change, nor any ending,
Only a journey, and so many go,
That we who stay at length discern the blending
Of the two roads, two breaths, two lives, and so
Come to the high and quiet knowledge that the
dead

Are but ourselves made beautiful instead.

II

And you, O best beloved of them all,

How is it with you? Is it well indeed?

Or is there in the vivid quiet need

*From "Songs and Portraits," by Maxwell Struthers Burt, Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1920.

Of some familiar task; yet does the call
Of the warm earth, the rise and fall

Of accents you held dear, when in the night
They talk of you, trouble the winged light?
O foolish question wisdom should forestall!
Now are you most immediate: so near,

That there is left no thing between us; no,
Nor veil of life. Ah dear, my very dear,
Only the dead are close and never apart,
Speaking in lucid sentences, and so,

Can find their way unhampered to a heart.

III

There is a wind that blows from earth when dusk

is coming,

Laden with richness of the stored up day;

The secret warmth of hidden paths; the humming
Of pollened bees; the sweetness of damp hay;
And mist along a shining valley stream;

5

And green cool reaches where the bending trees, After the hot noon, listen for the breeze:

All this, I know, is part of your new dream.

ΙΟ

And when I wake, and death seems most unfair,
Even then is some new mystery on the air,
Of scent, or sound, or loveliness of hue,
Stirring my heart and making me aware
I cannot grasp the rapture now of you,

Who were so close to dawn, and trees, and dew.

Maxwell Struthers Burt.

OUTWITTED*

He drew a circle that shut me out—
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!

Edwin Markham.

THE EARLY MORNING

THE moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother. The moon on my left and the dawn on my right. My brother, good morning: my sister, good night. Hilaire Belloc.

INSCRIPTION FOR A FIREPLACE

I'M HOME'S heart! Warmth I give and light,
If you but feed me.

I blossom in the winter night,

When most you need me.

*Copyright by Edwin Markham, 1919, and used by his permission.

†From "Canzoni and Songs of Wedlock," by permission of the publishers, Harcourt, Brace and Company.

To melt your cares, to warm your guest,

My cheer's supplied you;
But, O! to know me at my best,

Hold Her beside you!

8

T. A. Daly.

SECRET LAUGHTER

"I had a secret laughter"

-Waller de la Mare.

THERE is a secret laughter

That often comes to me,

And though I go about my work
As humble as can be,

There is no prince or prelate

I envy-no, not one.

No evil can befall me

By God, I have a son!

Christopher Morley.

SENTENCE*

SHALL I say that what heaven gave

Earth has taken?

Or that sleepers in the grave

"From "Grenstone Poems," published by Alfred A. Knopf.