REMARKS ABOUT KINGS _God said, "I am tired of kings._"--EMERSON. God said, "I am tired of kings,"-- But that was a long time ago! And meantime man said, "No, I like their looks in their robes and rings." So he crowned a few more, And they went on playing the game as before Fighting and spoiling things. Man said, "I am tired of kings! Sons of the robber-chiefs of yore, They make me pay for their lust and their war; I am the puppet, they pull the strings; The blood of my heart is the wine they drink. I will govern myself for while I think, And see what that brings!" Then God, who made the first remark, Smiled in the dark. Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston. November, 1915. WAR-MUSIC Break off! Dance no more! Danger is at the door. Music is in arms. To signal war's alarms, Hark, a sudden trumpet calling Over the hill Why are you calling, trumpet, calling? What is your will? Men, men, men! Men who are ready to fight For their country's life, and the right. Of a liberty-loving land to be Free, free, free! Free from a tyrant's chain, Free from dishonor's stain, Free to guard and maintain All that her fathers fought for, All that her sons have wrought for, Resolute, brave, and free! Call again, trumpet, call again, Call up the men! Do you hear the storm of cheers Mingled with the women's tears And the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet? Do you hear the throbbing drum As the hosts of battle come Keeping time, time, time to its beat? O Music give a song To make their spirit strong For the fury of the tempest they must meet. The hoarse roar Of the monster guns; And the sharp bark Of the lesser guns; The whine of the shells, The rifles' clatter Where the bullets patter, The rattle, rattle, rattle Of the mitrailleuse in battle, And the yells Of the men who charge through hells Where the poison gas descends. And the bursting shrapnel rends Limb from limb In the dim Chaos and clamor of the strife Where no man thinks of his life But only of fighting through, Blindly fighting through, through! 'Tis done At last! The victory won, The dissonance of warfare past! O Music mourn the dead Whose loyal blood was shed, And sound the taps for every hero slain; Then lend into the song That made their spirit strong, And tell the world they did not die in vain.