To those of us who have been associated with them and who have fought beside their gallant troops, words of praise seem inadequate to express our admiration. These things our kinsmen have done, and these things have brought an inseparable union between them and ourselves. To the British people, we extend our thanks for the powerful aid her navy has given, and offer our great respect for the resolute Anglo-Saxon determination with which she has held on, and we offer our right hand of friendship that our two nations may be more firmly linked together to insure the future peace of the world. GEN. J. J. PERSHING GIFTS FROM THE DEAD Ye who in Sorrow's tents abide, Mourning your dead with hidden tears, Bethink you what a wealth of pride They've won you for the coming years. Grievous the pain; but, in the day When all the cost is counted o'er, Would it be best that you should say: "We lost no loved ones in the war"? Who knows? But proud then shall ye stand That best, most honoured boast to make: "My lover died for his dear land", Or, "My son fell for England's sake". Christlike they died that we might live; And our redeemed lives would we bring, With aught that gratitude may give To serve you in your sorrowing. And never a pathway shall ye tread, No foot of seashore, hill, or lea, But ye may think: "The dead, _my_ dead, Gave this, a sacred gift, to me". P. HABBERTON LULHAM _By permission of the Author_ THE WOMAN'S TOLL O Mother, mourning for the son who keeps His last dread watch by unfamiliar streams, Or for that other, gay of heart, who sleeps Where the great waters guard his secret dreams, Amid your tears take comfort for a space, They showed them worthy of their island race. O Wife, who heard across the wintry sea Death's trumpet shrill for him who goes no more Riding at dawn with that brave company Whose fellowship no morning shall restore, In whose dark heart your bitterest hour shall bring Scents from the scattered petals of the spring. O Maid, with wondering eyes untouched of grief, War's dreadful shadow spares your innocent years, Yet shall you deem the ways of sunshine brief, Paying long hence your toll of hidden tears For love that perished ere the web was spun, And children that shall never see the sun. RUTH DUFFIN _Joint Author, with Celia Duffin, of "The Secret Hill" By permission of the Author_ PILGRIMS