Produced by Al Haines CARRY ON! By VIRNA SHEARD PUBLISHED UNDER THE DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE OF THE IMPERIAL ORDER OF THE DAUGHTERS OF THE EMPIRE IN AID OF THE RED CROSS TORONTO: WARWICK BROS. & RUTTER, LIMITED 1917 COPYRIGHT, CANADA, 1917 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We acknowledge with thanks the kindness of _The Globe_, Toronto, for permission to use Carry On, The Young Knights, The Watcher, October Goes, Dreams, The Cry, A War Chant, To One Who Sleeps, The Requiem and The Lament, to _Saturday Night_, Toronto, for permission to use Before the Dawn, and to _The Canadian Magazine_ for permission to use When Jonquils Blow. The other poems have not hitherto been published. CONTENTS Carry On The Young Knights The Shells The Watcher October Goes Dreams Before the Dawn Crosses The Cry A War Chant When Jonquils Blow To One Who Sleeps The Sea Comrades Requiem Lament CARRY ON! That all freedom may abide Carry on! For the brave who fought and died, Carry on! England's flag so long adored Is the banner of the Lord-- His the cannon--His the sword-- Carry on, and on! Carry on! Through the night of death and tears, Carry on! Through the hour that scars and sears, Carry on! Legions in the flame-torn sky,-- Armies that go reeling by,-- Only once can each man die; Carry on! For the things you count the best, Carry on! Take love with you,--leave the rest-- Carry on! Though the fight be short or long, Men of ours--O dear and strong-- Yours will be the Victor's song, Carry on--and on! Carry on! THE YOUNG KNIGHTS Now they remain to us forever young Who with such splendor gave their youth away; Perpetual Spring is their inheritance, Though they have lived in Flanders and in France A round of years, in one remembered day. They drained life's goblet as a joyous draught And left within the cup no bitter lees. Sweetly they answered to the King's behest, And gallantly fared forth upon a quest, Beset by foes on land and on the seas. So in the ancient world hath bloomed again The rose of old romance--red as of yore; The flower of high emprise hath whitely blown Above the graves of those we call our own, And we will know its fragrance evermore. Now if their deeds were written with the stars, In golden letters on the midnight sky They would not care. They were so young, and dear, They loved the best the things that were most near, And gave no thought to glory far and high. They need no shafts of marble pure and cold-- No painted windows radiantly bright; Across our hearts their names are carven deep-- In waking dreams, and in the dreams of sleep, They bring us still ineffable delight.