Give us a name to fill the mind With the shining thoughts that lead mankind, The glory of learning, the joy of art,-- A name that tells of a splendid part In the long, long toil and the strenuous fight Of the human race to win its way From the feudal darkness into the day Of Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,-- A name like a star, a name of light-- I give you _France!_ Give us a name to stir the blood With a warmer glow and a swifter flood,-- A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear, And silver-sweet, and iron-strong, That calls three million men to their feet, Ready to march, and steady to meet The foes who threaten that name with wrong,-- A name that rings like a battle-song. I give you _France!_ Give us a name to move the heart With the strength that noble griefs impart, A name that speaks of the blood outpoured To save mankind from the sway of the sword,-- A name that calls on the world to share In the burden of sacrificial strife Where the cause at stake is the world's free life And the rule of the people everywhere,-- A name like a vow, a name like a prayer. I give you _France!_ _Henry van Dyke_ VIVE LA FRANCE! Franceline rose in the dawning gray, And her heart would dance though she knelt to pray, For her man Michel had holiday, Fighting for France. She offered her prayer by the cradle-side, And with baby palms folded in hers she cried: "If I have but one prayer, dear, crucified Christ--save France! "But if I have two, then, by Mary's grace, Carry me safe to the meeting-place, Let me look once again on my dear love's face, Save him for France!" She crooned to her boy: "Oh, how glad he'll be, Little three-months old, to set eyes on thee! For, 'Rather than gold, would I give,' wrote he, 'A son to France.' "Come, now, be good, little stray _sauterelle_, For we're going by-by to thy papa Michel, But I'll not say where for fear thou wilt tell, Little pigeon of France! "Six days' leave and a year between! But what would you have? In six days clean, Heaven was made," said Franceline, "Heaven and France." She came to the town of the nameless name, To the marching troops in the street she came, And she held high her boy like a taper flame Burning for France. Fresh from the trenches and gray with grime, Silent they march like a pantomime; "But what need of music? My heart beats time-- _Vive la France!_" His regiment comes. Oh, then where is he? "There is dust in my eyes, for I cannot see,-- Is that my Michel to the right of thee, Soldier of France?" Then out of the ranks a comrade fell,-- "Yesterday--'t was a splinter of shell-- And he whispered thy name, did thy poor Michel, Dying for France." The tread of the troops on the pavement throbbed Like a woman's heart of its last joy robbed, As she lifted her boy to the flag, and sobbed: "_Vive la France!_" _Charlotte Holmes Crawford_