Tearing, plunging through the din, scarce a man can hold them in; None on earth could pull them short: Mary Mother, guard from harm Yonder woman straight ahead, stony-still with sudden dread, And the little woman-child, with her waxen child in arm! Oh, God’s calls, how swift they are! Oh, the Cross that hides the Star! Oh, the fire-gong beating fierce through the bells of Christmas day! Just a second there to choose, and a life to keep or lose-- To the curb he swung the horses, and he flung his life away! Ring, swing, bells in the steeple! Ring the Star and ring the Cross, for Star and Cross are one! Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people God is pleased with manly men, and deeds that they have done! GUION Is it so hard to die in the glory and fury of fight? Sweet is the death for the flag--splendid the death when Fame Snatches the sinking torch, and lifts it alive, alight!-- Let us remember his name who drank of a cup of flame Silently pledging Duty, and would not shirk Death in the plain day’s work. Guion was running the lift There at the doomed hotel When the grim chance befell. Twenty years, day out, day in, Still the same had the day’s work been: Up and down, steady and swift, At the thrill of the calling bell. Boy and man, and still the same; Then--the wild moment came. Fire and fear, and the rush, and the gush of the choking smoke; Cries, and the hoarse command, and the engine’s clanging stroke; Still, at the well-known call, in the wonted way, Up and down, steady and swift, Guion kept running the lift; Many and many a life is his gift That had else gone out that day. How it billowed, the surge of black On the delicate springtime sky! The firemen knew they were come to the end of it all,-- They were beaten, the roof must fall. Hands laid hold upon Guion: “You can’t go back!” But he answered, “I’ll stand by!” And again through the tumult--hark! Shrill, oh pitiful-shrill, The throb of the bell that summoned, the agony-thrill, Calling,--it fell on his soul like the sting of a spark. “One more trip!” said Guion; and steady and swift Mounted the man and the lift. --Save in the dust of ruin, that baffles ken, None saw Guion again. Year after year, when the great March sunsets flame, Let us remember his name. POVERTY ROW Brave old neighbors in Poverty Row, Why should we grudge to dwell with you? Pinch of poverty well ye know-- Doubtful dinner and clouted shoe. Grinned the wolf at your doors, and yet You sang your songs and you said your say. Lashed to labor by devil Debt, All were manful, and some were gay.