Give us a name to fill the mind With the shining thoughts that lead mankind, The glory of learning, the joy of art,-- A name that tells of a splendid part. In long, long toil and the strenuous fight Of the human race to win its way From the feudal darkness into the day Of Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,-- A name like a star, a name of light. I give you _France_! Give us a name to stir the blood With a warmer glow and a swifter flood, At the touch of a courage that knows not fear,-- A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear. And silver-sweet, and iron-strong, That calls three million men to their feet, Ready to march, and steady to meet The foes who threaten that name with wrong,-- A name that rings like a battle-song. I give you _France_! Give us a name to move the heart With the strength that noble griefs impart, A name that speaks of the blood outpoured To save mankind from the sway of the sword,-- A name that calls on the world to share In the burden of sacrificial strife When the cause at stake is the world's free life And the rule of the people everywhere,-- A name like a vow, a name like a prayer. I give you _France_! The Hague, September, 1916. JEANNE D'ARC RETURNS 1914 1916 What hast thou done, O womanhood of France, Mother and daughter, sister, sweetheart, wife, What hast thou done, amid this fateful strife, To prove the pride of thine inheritance. In this fair land of freedom and romance? I hear thy voice with tears and courage rife,-- Smiling against the swords that seek thy life-- Make answer in a noble utterance: "I give France all I have, and all she asks. Would it were more! Ah, let her ask and take; My hands to nurse her wounded, do her tasks,-- My feet to run her errands through the dark,-- My heart to bleed in triumph for her sake,-- And all my soul to follow thee, Jeanne d'Arc!" April 16, 1916. INTERLUDES IN HOLLAND THE HEAVENLY HILLS OF HOLLAND The heavenly hills of Holland,-- How wondrously they rise Above the smooth green pastures Into the azure skies! With blue and purple hollows, With peaks of dazzling snow, Along the far horizon The clouds are marching slow, No mortal fool has trodden The summits of that range, Nor walked those mystic valleys Whose colors ever change; Yet we possess their beauty, And visit them in dreams, While the ruddy gold of sunset From cliff and canyon gleams. In days of cloudless weather They melt into the light; When fog and mist surround us They're hidden from our sight; But when returns a season Clear shining after rain, While the northwest wind is blowing, We see the hills again.