Not all because our Washington In battle’s carnage, years and years, And this same Boer braved ye as one-- Blent blood with blood and tears with tears: Not all because of kindred blood, Not all because they built a town And left such names of true renown.[A] Not all because of Luther, Huss: But most because of Brotherhood In Freedom’s Hall; the holy right To fight for Home, as freemen fight-- Who Freedom stabs, stabs Us! This Nation’s heart, say what men may Who butcher Peace and barter Truth, Beats true as on its natal day, Beats true as in its battle-youth, Beats true to Freedom, true to Truth, Whatever Tories dare to say. Of all who fought with Washington One Arnold was and only one. Christ chose but twelve, yet one poor soul Sold God for silver. Ever thus Some taint, and even so with Us: But Freedom thrills the whole. My Lords, ye lead, through Him who died, Your dauntless millions. Ye are wise And learned. Ye are, beside, As God’s anointed in their eyes, Ye sit so far above their reach. Such trust! But are ye truly true To what He taught, to what ye preach, To those who trust and look to you? Then why mocked ye that manly Russ, That august man, that manliest man That yet has been since time began? Ye mocked, as ye mock Us! My Lords, slow paced and somber clad Ye all will fare to church to-day And there sit solemn faced and sad With eyes to book, as if to pray. And will ye think of Him who came And lived so poor and died so lorn-- Came in the name of Peace, the name Of God, that fair first Christmas morn? My Lords, ye needs must think to-day-- Your eyes bent to the Holy Book The while the people look and look-- For dare ye try to pray? And while ye think of Christ the child Think of the childless mother, she Whose dead boy has his desert wild, While yours his Christmas tree; Think of the mother, far away, Who sits and weeps with hollow eyes, Her hungry child that cries and cries Forlorn and fatherless to-day: Think of the thousand homes that weep All desolate, who but for ye To-day had decked their Christmas tree; Then fare ye home and--sleep? [A] NOTE.--“I thank God there is not a drop of Saxon blood in my veins. I am a Dutchman; Boer, if you please.”--_Rough-rider Roosevelt, Governor of New York and heir apparent to the Presidency of Us._ MOTHER EGYPT. _Dedicated to England on her invasion of North Africa._ Dark browed, she broods with weary lids Beside her Sphinx and Pyramids, With low and never-lifted head. If she be dead, respect the dead; If she be weeping, let her weep; If she be sleeping, let her sleep; For lo, this woman named the stars! She suckled at her tawny dugs Your Moses while you reeked in wars And prowled your woods, nude, painted thugs.