Time’s voice is just. His words ring true. For as the past recedes, The clear-eyed Future slowly writes the story of its deeds; And as Time toward the Infinite his ceaseless flight is winging He shall go singing The hymn of hate, of men and gods, for all your deeds of lust, For all your acts of cruelty and hell-concocted schemes (More hideous than the darkest plot of which a devil dreams) Which sprang from your Medusa head before it touched the dust. Beneath the strangling hand of Fate That strident voice of yours Shall hush to silence, soon or late That Justice that endures Will mobilise its mighty ranks and free the human race, Then shall all Space, Yea, all the chains of sphere on sphere, With that loud hymn be ringing, Which Time goes singing His far flight winging And all the cherubims of God that dwell in regions o’er us Shall swell the chorus. _Oh_, _boastful_, _wicked land_, _that once was beautiful and great_, _How desolate and dark must be your self-invited fate_, _While Time goes down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate_! DEAR MOTHERLAND OF FRANCE DEDICATED TO THE MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE Our Motherland, dear Motherland, The source of beauty and of Art, Who but thy children understand The love which permeates each heart! We see, through rainbow-tints of tears, Thy glory of a thousand years. O country of the Great and Free, We live for thee, we live for thee, Dear Motherland of France. O Motherland, both blithe and brave, What magic lies in thy name—France! Yet can thy radiant mien be grave, And stern thy ever-smiling glance. And when thy sons and daughters know That enemies would lay thee low And dim thy fame on land and sea, We fight for thee, we fight for thee, Dear Motherland of France. Dear Motherland of joy and mirth, Dear Motherland of faith divine, A thousand years the wondering earth Has seen thy star in splendour shine. Still shall it see that star of France Its splendour and its light enhance. Dear Motherland, when it need be We die for thee, we die for thee, Dear Motherland of France. THE SPIRIT OF GREAT JOAN Back of each soldier who fights for France, Ay, back of each woman and man Who toils and prays through these long tense days, Is the spirit of Great Joan. For the love she gave, and the life she gave, In the eyes of God sufficed To crown her with light, and power, and might, That made her second to Christ. And so in that hour at the Marne she came, To the seeing eyes of men; And the blind of view still felt and knew That her spirit had come again. And she will come in each crucial hour And joy shall follow despair, For Joan sees her France on its knees And she hears the voice of its prayer.