Ribbons of white in the flag of our land, Say, shall we live in fear? Speak! For I wait for the word from your lips Wet with the brine of the sea-going ships; Speak! Shall we cringe ’neath an Attila’s whips? Speak! For I wait to hear! “This is our word,” said the ribbons of white; “This is the course to steer-- Peace is our haven for foul or for fair-- Won as a maiden and kept as an heir, Peace with the sunlight of God on her hair, Peace, with an honor clear!” Ribbons of red in the flag of our land, Bought for a price full dear, Speak! For ’tis Man that is asking Man, Churl in the centuries’ caravan, Speak! For he waits for your bold “I can!” Speak! For he waits to hear! “This is our word,” said the ribbons of red, Slowly, with gaze austere, “War if we must in humanity’s name, Shielding a sister from sorrow and shame; War upon beasts with the sword and with flame! War--till the Judge appear!” Stars in a field of the sky’s own blue, Light of a midnight year, Speak! For the spirit of Man awakes, Shoulders the cross, and his couch forsakes, Whispers a prayer, and the long way takes, Speak! For he waits to hear! “This is our word,” said a star of white, Set in the silken mere, “Right against Might on the land, on the sea! Little and Great are the same to me! Only for Truth and for Liberty Strike! For the hour is here!” THE CALL (FRANCE, AUGUST 1ST, 1914) ROBERT W. SERVICE From “Rhymes of a Red Cross Man,” a book of fine poems by Mr. Service. Published and copyright, 1916, by Barse & Hopkins, New York. Special permission to insert in this book. Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of War! Over the gorse and the golden dells, Ringing and swinging of clamorous bells, Praying and saying of wild farewells: War! War! War! High and low, all must go: Hark to the shout of War! Leave to the women the harvest yield; Gird ye, men, for the sinister field; A sabre instead of a scythe to wield. War! Red war! Rich and poor, lord and boor, Hark to the blast of War! Tinker and tailor and millionaire, Actor in triumph and priest in prayer, Comrades now in the hell out there, Sweep to the fire of War! Prince and page, sot and sage, Hark to the roar of War! Poet, professor and circus clown, Chimney-sweeper and fop o’ the town, Into the pot and be melted down Into the pot of War! Women all, hear the call, The pitiless call of War! Look your last on your dearest ones, Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons: Swift they go to the ravenous guns, The gluttonous guns of War!