We detest the false Bulgars and Greeks; They must learn to be true to their friends; They have proved themselves traitors and sneaks, Using war for their own selfish ends. But our grafters their pockets may fill, While valiantly waving the flag, Caring nothing who settles the bill, If they only get off with the swag. We abhor the unspeakable Turk, For his orgies of murder and shame, His detestable devilish work Done in honor of Allah's fair name; Then we pray as the Pharisee prayed, While afar off the publican stood, But forget the Creator has made All the children of men of one blood. NURSE CAVELL November, 1915 This world has spots made holy By deeds or lives of love, Has shrines where high and lowly Alike, their hearts may prove; This age, when faith might falter Mid shriek of shot and shell, Has added one more altar, The grave of Nurse Cavell. She cared for sick and dying, Knew neither friend nor foe, She spent her strength in trying To heal a neighbor's woe. For deeds by love inspired The Kaiser's vengeance fell On form so frail and tired, Heroic Nurse Cavell. What though the Prussian kultur Now threatened her with death; She met the screaming vulture In simple, quiet faith, "I am an English woman, I love my country well, But must not hate a foeman," Said kindly Nurse Cavell. She faced the guns with even, Calm, fearless, English eyes, And then, her foes forgiven, Made willing sacrifice; Thus, at the midnight hour, In Prussian prison cell, Crushed by a tyrant's power, Died Christlike Nurse Cavell. But when no more war legions In battles fierce are hurled, When, to remotest regions, Peace reigns throughout the world; Where'er beyond the waters The British peoples dwell Mothers will tell their daughters The tale of Nurse Cavell. 'TWAS EVER THUS November, 1916 O preacher, prophet, martyr, sage, Whose message falls on heedless ears, Bethink that unrepentant age When Noah preached for six score years; See Israel to Baal bowed, The persecuting Pharisee, And all the loaves and fishes crowd Beside the sea of Galilee. O patriot of humble birth, With heart to help a fellow man, To reconstruct the things of earth Upon a nobler, wiser plan; The curse that mars the lowly born Will dog your footsteps till your death, The proud Judeans' words of scorn, "No good thing comes from Nazareth."