March 26--Financial report issued in London by the American Commission for Relief in Belgium states that foodstuffs of a total value of $20,000,000 have been delivered to Belgium since the commission began work, and $19,000,000 worth of foodstuffs is in transit or stored for future shipments; $8,500,000 has been provided by benevolent contributions, and the remaining $30,500,000 through banking arrangements set up by the commission; of the benevolent contributions the United States has provided $4,700,000; United Kingdom, $1,200,000; Canada, $900,000; Australasia, $900,000; clothing which has been distributed is estimated to have been worth an additional $1,000,000; it is announced that Queen Alexandra, as President of the English Red Cross Society, has written an autograph note to Mrs. Whitelaw Reid in London expressing gratitude for the aid given by the American Red Cross. March 30--The cash collected by the Belgian Relief Fund, New York, now totals $1,004,000, said to be the largest amount ever raised in the United States for relief of distress in a foreign country. THE DAY By HENRY CHAPPELL. _[The author of this poem is Mr. Henry Chappell, a railway porter at Bath, England. Mr. Chappell is known to his comrades as the "Bath Railway Poet."]_ You boasted the Day, and you toasted the Day, And now the Day has come. Blasphemer, braggart and coward all, Little you reck of the numbing ball, The blasting shell, or the "white arm's" fall, As they speed poor humans home. You spied for the Day, you lied for the Day, And woke the Day's red spleen, Monster, who asked God's aid Divine, Then strewed His seas with the ghastly mine; Not all the waters of all the Rhine Can wash thy foul hands clean. You dreamed for the Day, you schemed for the Day; Watch how the Day will go. Slayer of age and youth and prime (Defenseless slain for never a crime) Thou art steeped in blood as a hog in slime, False friend and cowardly foe. You have sown for the Day, you have grown for the Day; Yours is the Harvest red. Can you hear the groans and the awful cries? Can you see the heap of slain that lies, And sightless turned to the flame-split skies The glassy eyes of the dead? You have wronged for the Day, you have longed for the Day That lit the awful flame. 'Tis nothing to you that hill and plain Yield sheaves of dead men amid the grain; That widows mourn for their loved ones slain, And mothers curse thy name. But after the Day there's a price to pay For the sleepers under the sod, And Him you have mocked for many a day-- Listen, and hear what He has to say: _"Vengeance is mine, I will repay."_ What can you say to God? Reprinted from _The London Daily Express_ (Copyright).