There is no hate in the heart of France, But a mighty moral force That takes its stand for her worshipped land, And cannot be swerved from its course. For this is the way with France to-day, Her courage comes from faith, And she bends her knee ere she straightens her arm; In her forward rush toward death. A jungle of beasts in the heart of the Hun— War to the world laid bare. And war has revealed, that France concealed, Only the lion’s lair. A lioness fighting to save her own, She fights as a lioness can, And strength to the end shall the Unseen send, In the spirit of Great Joan. SPEAK Obscured the sun, the world is dark; Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Send down thy spark. Let every heart in France be stirred, By such an all-compelling word As thou once heard. Say to each soul, ‘Lo! I am near; My voice still speaks in accents clear. Be still and hear. ‘The France I saved can not be lost; Though tempest-torn and terror-tossed, Count not the cost. ‘Give as the maid of Domrémy Gave all—gave life itself to see Her country free. ‘Back of great France my spirit towers To aid her through the darkest hours With God’s own powers!’ Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Shine through the night, speak through the dark The while we hark. THE GIRL OF THE U.S.A. Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine, And I think every fellow will state That the ‘what-you-may-call-it’ coiffured way They put up their hair is great! And they know how to dress, and they wear their clothes In a fetching, Frenchy way; And yet to me, there is just one girl— The girl of the U.S.A. I like to listen when French girls talk, Though I’m weak in the ‘parlez-vous’ game; But the language of youth in every land Is somehow about the same, And I’ve learned a regular code of shrugs, And they seem to know what I say! But the girl whose voice goes straight to my heart Is the girl of the U.S.A. I haven’t a word but words of praise For these dear little girls of France; And I will confess that I’ve felt a thrill As I faced their line of advance! But I haven’t been taken a prisoner yet, And I won’t be, until the day When I carry my colours to lay at the feet Of a girl of the U.S.A. PASSING THE BUCK Whatever the task that comes your way, Just take it as part of your luck. Look it right square in the eyes, and say, ‘This is _my_ task, I’ll do it to-day’: Don’t pass the buck. Oh! whether you cook, or whether you fight, Or whether you trundle a truck, Just tackle your job and do it right: Don’t pass the buck.