_King of Belgium, Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, all in one; Little Kingdom of the Belgae starr'd with honor in the sun! You have won a place in history, of your deeds the world will sing, But the glory of your nation is your dust-stained, fearless King: So I take off my hat to Albert._ _For M. Goor._ THE KAISER'S FAVORITE POEMS What are the Kaiser's favorite poems? Well, now, you tax me hard: I know the Kaiser's favorite drink But do not know his bard; I'm sure it is not Schiller Who reigns in German homes. Nor yet Olympian Goethe, Who writes the Kaiser's poems. Perhaps that Heinrich Heine Has touched the Kaiser's soul; Or Arndt with his trumpet call Like a new conscription roll; Or, Walther von der Vogelweide With his nest in mythic domes, Is the author and creator Of the Kaiser's favorite poems. If I saw the Kaiser's library I'd know well what he reads-- The color of his fancy And the prompter of his deeds: I'd learn the depth and wisdom Of his theories and his gnomes, If I got but just a glance or two At the Kaiser's favorite poems. Then let us go to Essen, Where the Kaiser's books are bound; They are full of "steel" engravings-- All "best sellers" there are found; For the Prussian soul and spirit Speaks in rhythm thro' those tomes, And these without a question, Are the Kaiser's favorite poems. _For Rt. Hon. David Lloyd-George._ LOUVAIN A shrine, where saints and scholars met And held aloft the torch of truth, Lies smouldering 'neath fair Brabant's skies, A ruined heap--war's prize in sooth! The Pilates of Teutonic blood That fired the brand and flung the bomb Now wash their hands of evil deed, While all the world stands ghast and dumb. Is this your culture, sons of Kant, And ye who kneel 'round Goethe's throne? To carry in your knapsacks death? To feel for man nor ruth nor moan? What 'vails it now your mighty guns If God be mightier in the sky? What 'vail your cities, walls and towers If half your progress be a lie? The smoking altars, ruined arch Of ancient church and Gothic fane Have felt the death stings of your shells, And speak in pity thro' Louvain. Wheel back your guns, your howitzers melt, Forget your "World-Power's" cursed plan And sign in peace and not in blood Dread Sinai's pact 'twixt God and Man. _For His Eminence Cardinal Merrier._ THE KAISER'S BHOYS