They'll let the Belgian mother, The French and English maid Give husband, lover, brother, To stop the Kaiser's raid. They'll see sweet Highland Mary Walk life's long path alone, And hear dear Irish Nora Wail for the loved ones gone. They'll send a feather pillow Or knit a pair of socks, And think they've done their duty By them that take the knocks. Oh that our hearts were bigger, And not so worldly wise; 'When duty calls, or danger;' Ready to sacrifice. WHAT OWEST THOU February, 1915 In blood bought Belgian trenches, On stormy Northern Sea, Brave hearts of oak are watching, Protecting you and me. The British wife and mother, The maid with sweetheart dear, Lest those they love should falter Hold back the scalding tear. "Your King and Country need you," They say with courage high. "Your fathers, too, were soldiers; And not afraid to die." Like fearless free born Britons, Not Kaiser driven slaves, Go heroes from the homeland To unmarked foreign graves. Shall we, with path made easy, While others fight and fall, In freedom's hour of danger Neglect the Empire's call? Shall we hoard up our dollars? Shall farmers hold their wheat, While children suffer hunger, And workmen walk the street? That land is doomed already To black, unending night, Whose old men worship money; Whose young men will not fight. O, for some John the Baptist! Some prophet Malachi, To lash our selfish conscience, And teach us purpose high. * * * * * Thank Heaven there's a remnant, A few not quite enslaved, For ten just men in Sodom, The city would have saved. A CALL TO THE COLORS November, 1915 Ye strong young men of Huron, Ye sons of Britons true, Your fathers fought for freedom, And now it's up to you; Your brother's blood is calling, For you they fought and died, Brave boys with souls unconquered, By Huns are crucified. Ten million Hunnish outlaws, The Kaiser's tools and slaves, Have strewn the sea with corpses, And scarred the earth with graves; They know no god but mammon; No law but sword and flame, They crush the weaker peoples, With deeds we dare not name. See Belgium rent and bleeding, The Kaiser's hellish work, Armenia vainly pleading For mercy from the Turk. The Poles and Serbs are dying The victims of the Huns, With anguished voices crying, "O send us men and guns!" Think of the Lusitania, Of martyred Nurse Cavell, Then say, "Can these be human Who act like fiends of hell." The Empire's in the conflict, And bound to see it through; Each man the old flag shelters, Must share the burden too.