Part 7

These are proud thoughts; they will some day be proud memories. We are associated together in a struggle never equalled yet in the history of the world, and I rejoice to think that in that struggle on which posterity will look back as the greatest effort made for freedom and civilization, the British Empire in every one of its constituent parts, and surely not least in this great Dominion, in this proud Province, and in this city not least, has shown what the unity of the Empire really means, and how vain were the anticipations of those who thought that we were constituted but a fair-weather Empire, to be dissolved into thin atoms at the first storm that should burst upon it.

We have, on the contrary, shown that the more storms beat on the fabric of our Empire the more firmly it held together, and were so far from shaking it in any single part. Events that have recently occurred, that are occurring, and that will occur in the future, will join every part of it together for ever in memories which will remain with us, the actors in this great drama, until we die, and which we shall be able to hand to our children and our grandchildren as long as civilization exists.

THE SPIRES OF OXFORD

(_Seen from the train_)

I saw the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The gray spires of Oxford Against a pearl-gray sky. My heart was with the Oxford men Who went abroad to die.

The years go fast in Oxford, The golden years and gay, The hoary Colleges look down On careless boys at play. But when the bugle sounded war They put their games away.

They left the peaceful river, The cricket-field, the quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford To seek a bloody sod-- They gave their merry youth away For country and for God.

God rest you, happy gentlemen, Who laid your good lives down, Who took the khaki and the gun Instead of cap and gown. God bring you to a fairer place Than even Oxford town.

W. M. LETTS _By permission of the Author From "Spires of Oxford"-- E. P. Dutton & Co., New York_

EXTRACT FROM SPEECH OF MONSIEUR VIVIANI IN OTTAWA

(_May 12, 1917_)

It must not be forgotten that in the month of February, 1915, at Ypres, in the north of France, near the Belgian frontier, in a country devastated by floods, after the terrific assault of the German soldiers by means of asphyxiating gases--Germany, the country that has caused science to swerve from its true ends, and, instead of pouring its benefits upon mankind, has visited humanity with manifold evils and crimes--that same Germany had to meet your Canadian soldiers. On that terrific day, your sons, rising in their might, saved the situation.

And throughout many battles, throughout numerous and recent victories, the soldiers of Canada stood up heroically against the foe. Even at this moment, we have before our eyes your boys, so alert, so athletic, so brave, the first to storm, victoriously carrying their flag to those heights of Vimy which were reputed to be impregnable.

Hail to all these soldiers; let us bow our heads reverently before those who fight, those who suffer, and those who have laid down their lives for their country. They had a clear perception of what their action meant; when they left this country they were well aware that it was not only Great Britain that they were called upon to defend, that it was not only France that they were going to protect against the attacks of invaders:--their clear vision upturned toward Heaven, detected the higher object; they were well aware that it was the sacred cause of humanity, of democracy, and of justice, that they were defending.

THE NAME OF FRANCE

Give us a name to fill the mind With the shining thoughts that lead mankind, The glory of learning, the glory of art,-- A name that tells of a splendid part In the 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,-- 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 Where 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_!

HENRY VAN DYKE _From "The Red Flower"--Copyright Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. By permission of the Author_

EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MARSHAL JOFFRE IN MONTREAL

(_May 12, 1917_)

I thank you, with all my heart, for the warmth of the reception you have given me, and I can assure you that the acclamations with which you have greeted me will be heard in France. I know the services rendered by Canada in France. Your soldiers have fought beside our soldiers, and many have died in the fight we are waging. They have always shown indomitable courage, and in them Canada has done her duty.

. . . . . . . . . .

Your Canadian soldiers have won the admiration of France. I have seen your men in action, they are courageous; they are indomitable and marvellous; they despise death; and their bravery is only equalled by that of the soldiers of France.

I thank you for the demonstration you have given me, and I am happy that I have been able, during my stay on this continent, to come up to this great city of Montreal for a few hours, to meet a people who show us so warmly that we in France have a place in their affections. All I can say is, and I say it with all my heart, "Vive le Canada!"

FOR THE MEN AT THE FRONT

Lord God of Hosts, whose mighty hand Dominion holds on sea and land, In Peace and War Thy Will we see Shaping the larger liberty. Nations may rise and nations fall, Thy Changeless Purpose rules them all.

When Death flies swift on wave or field, Be Thou a sure defence and shield! Console and succour those who fall, And help and hearten each and all! O, hear a people's prayers for those Who fearless face their country's foes!

For those who weak and broken lie, In weariness and agony-- Great Healer, to their beds of pain Come, touch, and make them whole again! O, hear a people's prayers, and bless Thy servants in their hour of stress!

For those to whom the call shall come We pray Thy tender welcome home. The toil, the bitterness, all past, We trust them to Thy Love at last. O, hear a people's prayers for all Who, nobly striving, nobly fall!

To every stricken heart and home, O, come! In tenderest pity, come! To anxious souls who wait in fear, Be Thou most wonderfully near! And hear a people's prayers, for faith To quicken life and conquer death!

For those who minister and heal, And spend themselves, their skill, their zeal-- Renew their hearts with Christ-like faith, And guard them from disease and death. And in Thine own good time, Lord, send Thy Peace on earth till Time shall end!

JOHN OXENHAM _By permission of the Author_

WHAT HAS BRITAIN DONE?

What has Britain done? Kept the faith and fought the fight For the everlasting right: Chivalrously couched her lance In defence of Belgium, France-- This has Britain done.

What has Britain done? Given every seventh son, Met the challenge of the Hun: Placed her men on every field, Proud to die, too proud to yield-- This has Britain done.

What has Britain done? Answers every far-flung breeze Blown across the seven seas: "Watch and ward secure she keeps, With vigilance that never sleeps"-- This has Britain done.

What has Britain done? On every front, her flag unfurled, Fought a world-war round the world: Then, when all is said and done, Ask her Allies, ask the Hun, "What has Britain done?"

What has Britain done? For her slain Britannia weeps-- She might boast who silence keeps. But, when all is done and said, Call the roll and count her dead, And know what she has done.

REV. F. B. HODGINS _By permission of the Author_

EXTRACT FROM SPEECH OF RT. HON. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE

(_Delivered at Queen's Hall on the Third Anniversary of the Declaration of War, August 4, 1917_)

While the Army is fighting so valiantly, let the nation behind it be patient, be strong, and, above all, united. The strain is great on nations and on individuals, and when men get over-strained tempers get ragged, and small grievances are exaggerated, and small misunderstandings and mistakes swell into mountains. Long wars, like long voyages and long journeys, are very trying to the temper, and wise men keep watch on it and make allowances for it. There are some who are more concerned about ending the war than about winning it; and plans which lead to victory, if they prolong the conflict, have their disapproval, and the people who are responsible for such plans have their condemnation. Let us keep our eye steadily on the winning of the war. May I say let us keep both eyes? Some have a cast in their eye, and while one eye is fixed truly on victory, the other is wandering around to other issues or staring stonily at some pet or partisan project of their own. Beware of becoming cross-eyed! Keep both eyes on victory. Look neither to the right nor to the left. That is the way we shall win. If any one promotes national distrust or disunion at this hour, he is helping the enemy and hurting his native land. And it makes no difference whether he is for or against the war. As a matter of fact, the hurt is deeper if he is for the war, because whatever the pure pacifist says is discounted, and, as far as the war is concerned, discredited.

Let there be one thought in every head. If you sow distrust, discontent, disunion in the nation we shall reap defeat. If, on the other hand, we sow the seeds of patience, confidence, and unity, we shall garner in victory and its fruits. The last ridges of a climb are always the most trying to the nerves and to the heart, but the real test of great endurance and courage is the last few hundreds or scores of feet in a climb upwards. The climber who turns back when he is almost there never becomes a great mountaineer, and the nation that turns back and falters before it reaches its purpose never becomes a great people. You have all had experience in climbing, no doubt--perhaps in Wales. Any mountaineer can start; any sort of mountaineer can go part of the way; and very often the poorer the mountaineer, the greater is his ardour when he does start; but fatigue and danger wear out all but the stoutest hearts, and even the most stout-hearted sometimes fail when they come to the last slippery precipice. But if they do turn back and afterwards look up and see how near they had got to the top, how they curse the faint-heartedness which bade them give up when they were so near the goal!

WHAT HAS ENGLAND DONE?

(This is the reply of an American poet to a question often heard in the United States.)

Strange, that in this great hour, when Righteousness Has won her war upon Hypocrisy, That some there be who, lost in littleness, And mindful of an ancient grudge, can ask: "Now, what has England done to win this war?" We think we see her smile that English smile, And shrug a lazy shoulder and--just smile. It were so little worth her while to pause In her stupendous task to make reply.

What has she done? When with her great, gray ships, Lithe, lean destroyers, grim, invincible, She swept the prowling Prussian from the seas; And, heedless of the slinking submarine, The hidden mine, the Hun-made treacheries, Her transports plied the waters ceaselessly! You ask what she has done? Have you forgot That 'neath the burning suns of Palestine She fought and bled, nor wearied of the fight Till from that land where walked the Nazarene She drove the foul and pestilential Turk?

Ah, what has England done? No need to ask! Upon the fields of Flanders and of France A million crosses mark a million graves; Upon each cross a well-loved English name. And, ah, her women! On that peaceful isle, Where in the hawthorn hedges thrushes sang, And meadow-larks made gay the scented air, Now blackened chimneys rear their grimy heads, Smoke-belching, and the frightened birds have fled Before the thunder of the whirring wheels. Behind unlovely walls, amid the din, Seven times a million noble women toil-- With tender, unaccustomed fingers toil, Nor dream that they have played a hero's part.

Great-hearted England, we have fought the fight Together, and our mingled blood has flowed. Full well we know that underneath that mask Of cool indifference there beats a heart, Grim as your own gaunt ships when duty calls, Yet warm and gentle as your summer skies: A Nation's heart that beats throughout a land Where Kings may be beloved, and Monarchy Can teach Republics how they may be free. Ah! What has England done? When came the call, She counted not the cost, but gave her all!

VILDA SAUVAGE OWENS _By permission of the Author_

IN THE MORNING

Back from battle, torn and rent, Listing bridge and stanchions bent By the angry sea. By Thy guiding mercy sent, Fruitful was the road we went-- Back from battle we.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm, If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home, When against us men uprose and sought to work us harm, We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

Heaving sea and cloudy sky Saw the battle flashing by, As Thy foemen ran. By Thy grace, that made them fly, We have seen two hundred die Since the fight began.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right, If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord! If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight We never should have closed with them--Thy seas are dark and broad.

Through the iron rain they fled, Bearing home the tale of dead, Flying from Thy sword. After-hatch to fo'c's'le head, We have turned their decks to red, By Thy help, O Lord!

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown, But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud; It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone, When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

Sixty miles of running fight, Finished at the dawning light, Off the Zuider Zee. Thou that helped throughout the night Weary hand and aching sight, Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

KLAXON _By permission of Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh_

ORDER TO THE CANADIAN ARMY CORPS

(_March 27, 1918_)

Looking back with pride on the unbroken record of your glorious achievements, asking you to realize that to-day the fate of the British Empire hangs in the balance, I place my trust in the Canadian Corps, knowing that where Canadians are engaged, there can be no giving way. Under the orders of your devoted officers in the coming battle, you will advance, or fall where you stand, facing the enemy.

To those who fall, I say: "You will not die, but step into immortality. Your mothers will not lament your fate, but will be proud to have borne such sons. Your names will be revered for ever by your grateful country, and God will take you unto Himself."

Canadians, in this fateful hour, I command you and I trust you to fight as you have ever fought, with all your strength, with all your determination, with all your tranquil courage. On many a hard-fought field of battle you have overcome this enemy, and with God's help you shall achieve victory once more.

(Sgd.) A. W. CURRIE, Lieut.-Gen. Commanding Canadian Corps

THE SOUL OF A NATION

(_March 28, 1918_)

The little things of which we lately chattered-- The dearth of taxis or the dawn of spring; Themes we discussed as though they really mattered, Like rationed meat or raiders on the wing;--

How thin it seems to-day, this vacant prattle, Drowned by the thunder rolling in the West, Voice of the great arbitrament of battle That puts our temper to the final test.

Thither our eyes are turned, our hearts are straining, Where those we love, whose courage laughs at fear, Amid the storm of steel around them raining Go to their death for all we hold most dear.

New born of this supremest hour of trial, In quiet confidence shall be our strength, Fixed on a faith that will not take denial Nor doubt that we have found our soul at length.

O England, staunch of nerve and strong of sinew, Best when you face the odds and stand at bay, Now show a watching world what stuff is in you; Now make your soldiers proud of you to-day!

SIR OWEN SEAMAN _Reprinted by permission of London "Punch"_

THE LIVING LINE

(_March, 1918_)

As long as faith and freedom last, And earth goes round the sun, This stands--The British line held fast And so the fight was won.

The greatest fight that ever yet Brought all the world to dearth; A fight of two great nations set To battle for the earth.

And one was there with blood aflame To make the earth his tool; And one was there in freedom's name That mercy still should rule.

It was a line, a living line Of Britain's gallant youth That fought the Prussian one to nine And saved the world for ruth.

That bleeding line, that falling fence, That stubborn ebbing wave, That string of suffering human sense, Shuddered, but never gave.

A living line of human flesh, It quivered like a brain; Swarm after swarm came on afresh And crashed, but crashed in vain.

Outnumbered by the mightiest foe That ever sought to put The world in chains, they met the blow And fought him foot by foot.

They fought his masses, falling back, They poured their blood like wine, And never once the vast attack Smashed through that living line.

It held, it held, while all the world Looked on with strangled breath; It held; again, again it hurl'd Man's memory to death.

Bleeding and sleepless, dazed and spent, And bending like a bow, Backward the lads of Britain went, Their faces to the blow.

And day went by, and night came in, And when the moon was gone Murder burst out with fiercer din, And still the fight went on.

Day after day, night after night, Outnumbered nine to one, In agony that none may write Those young men held the Hun.

And this is their abiding praise No future shall undo: Not once in all those staggering days The avalanche broke thro'.

Retreat, retreat, yea, still retreat, But fighting one to nine, Just knowing there was no defeat If they but held the line.

Ah, never yet did men more true Or souls more finely wrought From Cressy down to Waterloo Fight as these young men fought;

On whose great hearts the fate of all Mankind was poised that hour Which saw the Prussian War God fall And Christ restored to pow'r.

The world shall tell how they stood fast, And how the fight was won, As long as faith and freedom last And earth goes round the sun.

HAROLD BEGBIE _By permission of the Author_

AN HISTORIC ORDER

(_Field-Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, April 12, 1918_)

Three weeks ago to-day the enemy began his terrific attacks against us on a fifty-mile front. His objects were to separate us from the French, to take the Channel Ports, and to destroy the British Army.

In spite of throwing already one hundred and six divisions into the battle, and enduring the most reckless sacrifice of human life, he has yet made little progress toward his goals.

We owe this to the determined fighting and self-sacrifice of our troops. Words fail me to express the admiration which I feel for the splendid resistance offered by all ranks of our army under the most trying circumstances.

Many among us now are tired. To those I would say that victory will belong to the side which holds out the longest. The French Army is moving rapidly and in great force to our support. There is no other course open to us but to fight it out.

Every position must be held to the last man. There must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall, and believing in the justice of our cause, each one of us must fight to the end. The safety of our homes and the freedom of mankind depend alike upon the conduct of each one of us at this critical moment.

THE GUNS IN SUSSEX

Light green of grass and richer green of bush Slope upwards to the darkest green of fir; How still! How deathly still! And yet the hush Shivers and trembles with some subtle stir, Some far-off throbbing, like a muffled drum, Beaten in broken rhythm oversea, To play the last funereal march of some Who die to-day that Europe may be free.

The deep-blue heaven, curving from the green, Spans with its shimmering arch the flowery zone; In all God's earth there is no gentler scene, And yet I hear that awesome monotone; Above the circling midge's piping thrill, And the long droning of the questing bee, Above all sultry summer sounds it still Mutters its ceaseless menaces to me.

And as I listen all the garden fair Darkens to plains of misery and death, And looking past the roses I see there Those sordid furrows, with the rising breath Of all things foul and black. My heart is hot Within me as I view it, and I cry, "Better the misery of these men's lot Than all the peace that comes to such as I!"

And strange that in the pauses of the sound I hear the children's laughter as they roam, And then their mother calls, and all around Rise up the gentle murmurs of a home. But still I gaze afar, and at the sight My whole soul softens to its heartfelt prayer: "Spirit of Justice, Thou for whom they fight, Ah, turn in mercy, to our lads out there!

"The froward peoples have deserved Thy wrath, And on them is the Judgment as of old. But if they wandered from the hallowed path, Yet is their retribution manifold. Behold all Europe writhing on the rack, The sins of fathers grinding down the sons, How long, O Lord!" He sends no answer back, But still I hear the mutter of the guns.

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE _By permission of the Author_

TO A SOLDIER IN HOSPITAL