"_Lord, I forbear! For Thee, at least, In pain so like to mine, The mighty meaning of their feast Is plain as bread and wine: O, smile once more, far off, alone! Since these nor hear nor see, From my deep hell, so like Thine own, Lord Christ, I pity Thee._" Yet once again, he thought, they shall be fully tried, If they be devils or fools too light for hell's deep pride. The champ of teeth was over, and the reeking room Gaped for the speeches now. Across the sulphurous fume Lucifer gave a sign. The guests stood thundering up! "Gentlemen, charge your glasses!" Every yellow cup Frothed with the crimson blood. They brandished them on high! "Gentlemen, drink to those who fight and know not why!" And in the bubbling blood each nose was buried deep. "Gentlemen, drink to those who sowed that we might reap! Drink to the pomp, pride, circumstance, of glorious war, The grand self-sacrifice that made us what we are! And drink to the peace-lovers who believe that peace Is War, red, bloody War; for War can never cease Unless we drain the veins of peace to fatten WAR! Gentlemen, drink to the brains that made us what we are! Drink to self-sacrifice that helps us all to shake The world with tramp of armies. Germany, awake! England, awake! Shakespeare's, Beethoven's Fatherland, Are you not both aware, do you not understand, Self-sacrifice is competition? It is the law Of Life, and so, though both of you are wholly right, Self-sacrifice requires that both of you should fight." And "Hoch! hoch! hoch!" they cried; and "Hip, hip, hip, Hurrah!" This raised the gorge of Lucifer. With one deep "Bah," Above those croaking toads he towered like Gabriel; Then straightway left the table and went home to hell. VETERANS (WRITTEN FOR THE RELIEF FUND OF THE CRIMEAN VETERANS.) I When the last charge sounds And the battle thunders o'er the plain, Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe? II When the last post sounds And the night is on the battle-field, Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars, Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars? III When the great reveille sounds For the terrible last Sabaoth, All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring! Will it not be well with us, Veterans, veterans, If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King? THE QUEST RENEWED