We swept the field, we won the day. Entrenched upon the plain I slept; Morn came and with it shadows gray, And something in my heart that wept. And if to think be not a crime For those who fight the fight of Kings, Upon that plain at dawning time I thought of sweeter, gentler things; Of home and vales of waving green And one who waited babe on knee; And all the cherished joys between The trenches and my love and me; Of all the loving hearts that yearn Through cheerless nights and pensive days; And all the tender eyes that burn With dreams, the hand of war waylays; Of those who feel the armed might, And bear its scars their breasts within, The meek with faces strangely white As her who'd wait in vain for him. In what old garden would she wait, His golden girl with eyes of brown; By what old fashioned trellised gate In some old street in some old town. No more to know the touch of hands, Nor tender light of his wide eyes, With all her maiden heart had planned, A vanished dream of Paradise. For I, on her, the thorny crown With hands ungentle deep had pressed, Her heart's fair garden trampled down, And crushed its roses in her breast. I did not hate the man I killed, But Duty hath her stern commands; I might have spared him had I willed, But one on high He understands. The morning broke, and then a lark High in the heavens poured his lay; I turned from phantoms of the dark To Duty and grim war's array. "A WARTIME GREETING" As towers the mountain o'er the valleys wide, So lifts the pillar of the patriot's pride; And 'neath the shadow of the Conflict stern, Still brightly may the Christmas hearth-fire burn. Our greatest and our humblest all are one. To each, one privilege, one gift is given: The love of Country--then from sire to son Preserve our heritage, as our sires have striven. The past is glorious: the future sure, If we but labour, and with love endure. Such joy as Christmas brings, I wish each one. Let's "carry on"--until the Victory's won. THE AVIATORS Theirs is the free unrutted tracts of air, The clime of cloudland and of boundless space; From grimy earth they soar to regions rare, And meet the blue eternal face to face-- Above the clouds; the earth, a swallowed ball. Lost in the gray abysses far below; Biding the storm above the whirlwinds thrall, The Aviators of the Allies go. Theirs is the flight of eagles, and as they, They swoop and drive their talons in the foe, Then wheeling, strike again their crippled prey, And send him crashing to the earth below. HELL'S ACOLYTE O'er a city Saturnalian, when the feast was at its height, Cried the demon of the riot, riding on the howling night. Cried aloud in gleeful frenzy, "Who would wish to be divine, When as fiend he reigns the master of unnumbered slaves of wine?"