A few days ago I was in France in the fire-zone. I had been at a field dressing-station, which had just evacuated its wounded and dead, and was expecting more; and, as evening was falling, full of the uncanny strain of the whole place and slightly deafened with the shells, I saw a body of men in full kit plodding their way up the communication trenches to take their place in the firing trench. I was just going back myself, well out of the range of the guns, to a comfortable tea and a peaceful evening; and there, in trench after trench, along all the hundred miles of our front, day after day, night after night, were men moving heavily up to the firing-line, to pay their regular toll of so many killed and so many wounded, while the war drags on its weary length. I suddenly wondered in my heart whether we or our cause or our country is worth that sacrifice; and, with my mind full of its awfulness, I answered clearly, Yes. Because, while I am proud of all the things I have mentioned about Great Britain, I am most proud of the clean hands with which we came into this contest; proud of the Cause for which with clear vision we unsheathed our sword, and which we mean to maintain unshaken to the bitter or the triumphant end. GILBERT MURRAY _By permission of the Author_ LUSITANIA (_May 7, 1915_) Who that can strike a blow Now will refrain? Who with the right to go Now will remain? Never was blood so spilt Under God's vault, Shame and eternal guilt Now if you halt. Who that has prayed for peace Now will forgive? Who can have any ease Now while they live? Into their land we'll break, Onward we'll thrust, Yea, for our children's sake Beat them to dust. "Wait, in a little time," (Mark how they live)! "Men will forget this crime, Soon will forgive; England will heed our plea: When the war ends We shall shake hands and be Traders and friends." Look, on a crimson tide Drifts the great host, Mother and babe collide, Ghost upon ghost: See how they make, those tears, Pillars of spray, Never in all God's years Dying away. Who that can strike a blow Now will refrain? Who with the right to go Now will remain? Ah, to be young again! Ah, to be strong! One, one with England's men Marching along! Rise like a fire and go Fierce to this strife, On, give them blow for blow, Life against life: Theirs to be infamous Dust of the sod, Yours to be glorious Victors of God. HAROLD BEGBIE _By permission of the Author_ THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED (_May 7, 1915_)