So tho’ we be sorely stricken we feel no dread: Our thousand sons suffer death-pangs like thine: It shall ripen in gold and harvest an hundredfold: Peace and Love shall hallow our care and teen, Shall bind in fellowship all the folk of the earth To kneel at thy cradle, Babe, and bless thy birth. Ring we the bells up and down in country and town, And keep the old feast unholpen of preacher or priest, Wishing thee happy returns, and thy Mother May, Ever happier and happier returns, dear CHRIST, of thy day! TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA _August, 1918._ See England’s stalwart daughter, who made emprise ’Gainst her own mother, freeborn of the free, Who slew her sons for her slaves’ liberty, See for mankind her majesty arise! From her new world her unattainted eyes Espy deliverance, and her bold decree Speaks for Great Britain’s wide confederacy: The folk shall rule, if only they be wise. Ambition, hate, revenge, the secret sway Of priest and kingcraft shall be done away By faith in beauty, chivalry and good. One God made all, and will all wrongs forgive Save their hell-heart who stab man’s hope to live In mutual freedom, peace and brotherhood. OUR PRISONERS OF WAR IN GERMANY _October, 1918._ Prisoners to a foe inhuman, Oh! but our hearts rebel: Defenceless victims ye are, in claws of spite a prey, Conquering your torturers, enduring night and day Malice, year-long drawn out your noble spirits to quell. Fearsomer than death this rack they ranged, and reckon’d well ’Twould harrow our homes, and plied, such devilish aim had they, That England roused to rage should wrong with wrong repay, And smirch her envied honour in deeds unspeakable. Nor trouble we just Heaven that quick revenge be done On Satan’s chamberlains highseated in Berlin; Their reek floats round the world on all lands ’neath the sun: Tho’ in craven Germany was no man found, not one With spirit enough to cry Shame!--Nay, but on such sin Follows Perdition eternal ... and it has begun. HARVEST-HOME VERSES TO THE AMERICANS ON THEIR THANKSGIVING DAY, CELEBRATED IN ENGLAND NOVEMBER 28, 1918. A toast for West and East Drink on this Thursday feast Last in November, The year when Albion’s lands Across the sea join hands-- Drink and remember! Nineteen-eighteen fulfill’d The kindly purpose will’d By the Ever-living, When first in hope upstay’d The Pilgrim Fathers made Harvest thanksgiving. And since the seed bore fruit, Which they went forth to root In the wildernesses, Ye now return to find The Rose that they resigned With their distresses.