POEMS AND SONGS ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. AN ANTHOLOGY FEOM ENGLAND, AFRICA, AUSTRALIA, UNITED STATES, BUT CHIEFLY CANADA. COLLECTED BY REV. J. DOUGLAS BORTHWICK. LL.D. // AUTHOR OF MANY WORKS ON CANADIAN HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY*AND BIOGRAPHY. " BATTLES OF THE WORLD." " BORTHWICK CASTLE." " HARP OF CANAAN." " HISTORY OF SCOTTISH SONG." ETC., ETC. MONTREAL. 1901 3731 PRINTED BY THE GAZETTE PUBLISHING Co. MONTREAL. DEDICATION. To His EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HONORABLE LORD MINTO, GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF CANADA. MY LORD, It gives me much pleasure in your Lordship kindly consent- ing to allow this truly national and patriotic work to be dedicated to you, as the Representative of Her Most^Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria, over this Dominion (but so shortly after this dedication was accepted by your Lordship, she died, and this universally mourned event, altered somewhat, the original copy). Canadians will not forget the energy and help which you gave when our 1st Contingent was sent to the South African war, nor of that which was displayed when the 2nd and the " Strathcona Horse," left for the same destination. In whatever part of the British Empire your Lordship in after years may be, you will always carry with you the gratitude of all classes of Canadians, both in your governmental career and in your affability while presiding over the affairs of this Dominion. Praying that the Great Disposer of Events may long spare your Lordship and your estimable family. I remain, Your obedient servant, J. DOUGLAS BORTHWICK, LL.D, MONTREAL, March, 1901. PREFACE. IN this collection will be found a great variety of Poems and Songs and from almost every part of the English speaking nations of the world. The whole will form one grand galaxy of Patriotism, well worthy to be preserved in the homes of every Canadian. Canada may well be proud of her position in the British Empire ; and in sending forth those Contingents of her brave sons to South Africa, to uphold " The Old Flag," and fight and die for the integrity of the same. I have arranged the anthology so as to make a kind of chronolo- gical sequence of the war, placing only a few of special significance at the front as a key to what follows. The collection consists of every variety of metre and merit, yet they all breathe but one sentiment, one wish, and one heartfelt prayer for "The Old Flag " and our late most Beloved Queen. I must return my sincere thanks to all the Writers aud Authors who have so spontaneously sent me their MSS, and by so doing, ensuring to the public, the latest corrections, by the Authors themselves, before they appear in this Anthology. J. DOUGLAS BORTHWICK. MONTREAL, March, 1901. POEMS AND SONGS ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR THE UNION JACK. It's only a small piece of bunting, It's only an old coloured rag; Yet thousands have died for its honour, And shed their best blood for the flag. It's charged with the Cross of St. Andrew, Which of old, Scotland's heroes have led; It carries the Cross of St. Patrick, For which Ireland's bravest have bled. Joined with these, on our own English ensign, St. George's red Cross on white field, Round which from King Richard to Wolsley, Britons conquer, or die, but ne'er yield. It flutters in triumph o'er ocean, As free as the wind and the wave; And bondsman from shackles unloosed, 'Neath its shadows no longer a slave. It floats over Cyprus and Malta, O'er Canada, the Indies, Hong Kong; And Britons where'er their flag's flying, 'Claim the rights which to Britons belong. We hoist it to show our devotion To our Queen, to our country and laws; 'Tis the outward and visible emblem Of advancement and liberty's cause. You may say it's a small bit of bunting, You may call it an old coloured rag; Yet freedom has made it majestic And time has ennobled the Flag. Anon. 8 POEMS AND SONGS The following lines by J. Sheppard were copied by the Author when in London in 1888. Being in Wapping, on the Tunnel stairs at that station, and there waiting for the underground railway amongst hundreds of other inscriptions his eye caught the fol- lowing words, very applicable to the present day of " THE BRITISH EMPIRE." What though the Powers, the world doth hold, Were all against us met, We have the might, they felt of old, and England's England yet; The flags that waved o'er many a rout, From many a conquered wall, For England shall again float out Triumphant 'ere it fall; Up English hearts, up English hands, Up for your homesteads and your lands. ENGLAND. England is England! though not " merrie " still, Matchless in power; supreme her dauntless will; Bending to none but Him, whose will is hers; Using her strength, alone when He avers. England is England! and her sons will fight, To shield her banner and uphold her right; Though for her love, her loyal soldiers spill Their best heart's blood England is England still! England is England! she will guard her own; And make her power felt, as it is known, Courage brave sons! she knows the British heart! Beyond its life, no more can love impart, < England is England! she will make it known, The cause of every Briton is her own Her noble sons shall tread the path she trod England is England! Yea and God is God! Amy Kingsland Pennington, Halifax, N.S. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. DEATH SONG OF THE BOERS. Lay my rifle here beside me, set my Bible on my breast, For a moment let the wailing bugles cease; As the century is closing, I am going to my rest; Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant go in peace. But loud through all the bugles rings a cadence in mine ear, And on the winds, my hopes of peace are strowed; The winds that waft the voices, that already I can hear Of the rooi-baatje singing on the road. Yes, the redcoats are returning; I can hear the steady tramp, After twenty years of waiting, lulled to sleep. Since rank and file at Potchefstrom we hemmed them in their camp, And cut them up at Bronkerspruit like sheep. They shelled us at Ingogo, but we galloped into range, And we shot the British gunners where they showed; I guessed they would return to us I knew the chance must change Hark! The rooi-baatje singing on the road! But now from snow-swept Canada, from India's torrid plains, From lone Australian outposts, hither led: Obeying their command, as they heard the bugle's strains, The men in brown have joined the men in red. They come to find the colours at Majuba left and lost, They come to pay us back the debt they owed; And I hear new voices lifted, and I see strange colors tossed, 'Mid the rooi-baatje singing on the road. The old, old faiths must falter; the old, old creeds must fail I hear it in the distant murmur low The old, old order changes, and 'tis vain for us to rail, The great world does not want us we must go. And veldt, and spruit, and kopje to the stranger will belong, No more to trek before him we shall load ; Too well, too well I know it, for I hear it in the song Of the rooi-baatje singing on the road. From "The Telephone," Cape Town. JO POEMS AND SONGS ON BEING STYLED " PRO-BOER." Friend, call me what you will; no jot care I; I that shall stand for England till I die. England! The England that rejoiced to see Hellas unbound, Italy one and free; The England that had tears for Poland's doom, And in Ler heart for all the world made room; The England from whose side I have not swerved; The immortal England whom I too have served, Accounting her all living lands above, In justice and in mercy and in love. New York Sun. THE RALLY. They said, ' She is old, this England Old and her children few, And scattered far at the ends of earth Each with his work to do. Each thinking only of self and pelf, And no one thinking of her Shall we call the pack her hands are full Shall we bite she cannot stir!' Did she Cry for help, our England? What need had she to call The yell of snarling hounds went forth, And was heard by her children all Sons and their sons and their children's sons, From the white to the torrid zone; Britannia's brood, blood of her blood And bone of her very bone! See, from the fields of old England, The children about her knee, And see from Scotland's heather hills, The free sons of the free, And see from Ireland's huts and halls Bravest they of the brave The empire that their hands have built, Her loyal sons shall save! ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 11 Canadians, straight as the pine trees, That pierce the new world's sky They dream of an Isle they have not seen, And proudly for it would die! And see how under the Southern Cross Australia's sons stand forth Yes, mark how the needle of loyalty Points steadfast to the North! From the East and the West, the Indies And isles of the farthest sea, No son of the blood but hears and asks ' Has the Mother need of me?' And the yelpings cease, the cringing hounds Show now neither fang nor tongue They said, ' This England is old and weak,' And lo, she is strong, she is young! We of the self-same birthright, One blood, one spirit, one speech This to our brothers, who fight to-day For the rights of all and each From the Cape whose name is prophecy, Northward your feet are bent, And above your banners we read, ' Good Hope ' For a darkened continent. Daniel M. Henderson, Baltimore, U.S.A. THE BRITON. From Heremon we claim descent His bride King David's daughter, Who from the Holy Land was sent To Erin o'er the water. Since then the Norman and the Dane, The Teuton and the Frenchmen Have mixed their blood, and from the strain Come sturdy British henchmen. Chorus Hurrah, then, for the blood and birth With pedigree to fit on The isles and continents of earth, The freedom-loving Briton. POEMS AND SONGS The liberties our fathers won We'll grant to every nation, Till peace and justice, like the sun, Shall shine o'er all creation. We seek no conquest to oppress, Or trample on a foeman; And blest ourselves, we seek to bless, With enmity to no man. Chorus Thus Celt and Teuton, Norman, Dane, Come back, like clouds from ocean, And fall upon the earth like rain, To set the crops in motion. No Cadmus crop of armed bands, To meet in strife infernal, But loving hearts and willing hands, To make God's peace eternal. Chorus Carroll Ryan, Montreal. TREKKING. (Song of the Boer Woman.) Trekking! trekking! trekking! will never the trek be done? Will never the rest, will never the home be won, and forever won? Are we only as beasts of the jungle afoot for the fleeting prey With a lair in the bush at midnight on the veldt, a trackless way? Ever the word is "onward" ever our white train goes Deeper and deeper northward beyond the grasp of our foes Deeper and deeper northward our fathers went before But the door of the veldt is closed is closed! Where can we trek to more? Trekking! trekking! trekking! think you we love not our home ? Think you my father prized not the farm of the yellow loam? And mother I see her weeping beside my brother tall, Turning and gazing northward beyond the mountain wall. The cattle they seem to be standing dumb in a brute despair With a longing look at the pastures they feel the trek in the air! Even old Yok seems broken he turns from the tempting bone I see him there in the corner, manlike, brooding alone! ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN AVAR. 13 Trekking! trekking! trekking! through Zululand we go, The midnight tiger stalking us, and ever the savage foe-^ Before 'the savage foe to meet, the "redcoat" foe behind What have we done to be blown about like a leaf upon the wind? Ah, over the Vaal we shall find our peace over the rushing Vaal The Lord has led us to rest at last blindly we followed His call; The land He promised is ours to keep is ours forever to keep Piet, what noise is that in the fold think you a wolf at the sheep? Trekking! trekking! trekking! we have trekked till our tall strong men Have sworn an oath by our father's God, we shall never trek again! The doors of the northward veldt are closed the doors of our heart are strong They shall ope their lock to a brother's knock but not to the threat of wrong! There is the gun your father bore when he climbed Majuba hill 'Tis yours, Piet, to bear it now with your father's faith and will For the land is ours the land is ours if ever a land was won You go at the dawn, you say, my son? Yes go at the dawn, my son! John Jerome Rooney, in New York Sun. MACDONALD'S SWORD. General Hector Macdonald, who did such wonders at Omdur- man, and who rose from the ranks, was one of the officers who survived Majuba Hill, where he was taken prisoner. The sword he wore had been presented to him by the men of his company when he won his commission, and bore on its blade an inscription to that effect. The Boer leaders noticed it among the surrendered arms and brought it back to Macdonald, telling him to wear it, as a man who had won such a sword should not be separated from it. Gen. Macdonald still tells the story and says that those men were gentlemen. The camp fire was red on our faces, but despair in our hearts was black; We had fought, we had fought, we had failed they had beaten us back and back! Cur country's flag and her honour to us had been given in trust, Her honour we'd lost on the mountain! Her flag we'd trailed in the dust! Ah, many a comrade lying still on that stark hillside We envied with bitter longing; would God we had also died! Sweeter were death than capture, sweeter were death than shame, The shame that our pride had yielded to a foe of despised name. 14 POEMS AND SONGS The camp fire shone on our captors, those men of the veldt, and farms ; Sombre, rugged, uncultured, unskilled (save in use of arms), Straight from the plough and the sowing they had shouldered their roers for the fight, And we had gone down before them gone down in our well-drilled might! Oh, well might they look with triumph upon our grim despair, As slowly within the red light we filed before them there. And our captain gave his sword up (its blade to-night was dim), The sword his comrades gave to show their pride in him. He gave it up in silence, but we who know his heart Could guess the wild regretting, the aching pain and smart; To yield his sword is an anguish that cuts a man full sore, And his wore a sting still keener, for he gave it up to a Boer. And they took it, too, in silence, that sternly quiet band, And read of honour that won it as they passed it from hand to hand. And then they turned to us, standing still in the dust and the glow, With our thoughts up there on the mountain and black in our hearts the woe, They spoke in our English language, their words were few and plain. " We take not the sword of a brave man " and they handed it back again. That night when the stars were glinting above the camp fire flare, As we lay around in the shadows, and the Boers with, their guns watched there. Our captain spoke to us shortly: " Men, we have lost the day; Yet I hold we are not dishonoured, whatever the world may say; To yield to a foe ignoble is a true cause for shame, To souls small and ungenerous, no matter their race or name; Our flag has gone down on Majuba, our pride is stricken sore; But we've learnt that our foe is worthy, although that foe be a Boer/' Many a sun o'er Majuba since then has risen and set; Many a year has fleeted since Boer and soldier met, The winds of this life have scattered them, scattered them wide and far; The men who came down from the mountain, carried a heart-deep scar. ON THE SOUTH AFKICAN WAR 15 Yet, wherever our paths may wander, wherever our winds may blow, To us that stood around that camp fire, that faded so long ago, No scornful speech may be uttered of the Boer, nor contemptuous word, For long as our life is with us, we'll remember Macdonald's sword! H. M. Bromley, Bloemfontein, South African News. AMERICAN POEMS TO ENGLAND. MOTHER ENGLAND. This poem appeared in the Los Angeles ' Times.' It expresses the views of a large number of people there. The ' Times ' is the most widely circulated paper south of San Francisco and west of St. Louis, and has great influence. The poem will please English- speaking people all over the world to know that such sentiments as it expresses emanated from an American writer in Southern California. Mother England! Mother England! here is heart and hand with thee! For Albin's blood is in our veins and Saxons too, are we; One history, one destiny, one God, one tongue, one aim To bear the torch of Freedom round the shackled world aflame. Mother England! Mother England! we are sons of Saxon sires, And across the rolling oceans we behold the beacon-fires. Your Scott, your Burns, your Shakespeare and your Tennyson are ours. And our Yankee hearts are with you when the cloud of danger lowers. Mother England! Mother England! down the ages, blood will tell, From the spears that baffled Caesar to the field where Symons fell; Down through rugged Gael and Saxon, brawny Norse and stalwart Danes, Still the blood of Bruce and Cromwell tingles in our Yankee veins. Mother England! Mother England! all your hero-sons are ours, And our Grant, our Meade, our Dewey and our Farragut are yours; For they heard the catt of 'Duty' from the deck at Trafalgar And the ghostly voice of Alfred through the ages from afar. 10 POEMS AND SONGS Mother England! Mother England! Lo your sons from sea to sea, Bear the equal scales of Justice and the lamp of Liberty; Only ties of love can bind them strong as steel but soft as silk For they sucked the love of freedom with their English mother- milk. Mother England! Mother England! if all Europe rise and roar, We will meet them we will beat them, on the sea and on the shore; Then our stalwart Anglo-Saxons, side by side, on land and sea, Will march on and sail together to one world-wide destiny Bearing still the scales of Justice and the lamp of Liberty. Mother England! Mother England! here is heart and hand with thee! For Albion's blood is in our veins and Saxons too, ane we ; One history, one destiny, one God, one tongue, one aim To bear the torch of Freedom round the shackled world aflame. H. L. G., Los Angeles, U.S.A. WAITING. Under an alien sky I keep my vigil, While with winged footstep glides the listening night, And far from this white coast in moonlight sleeping, A world afar the Empire's soldiers fight. I, a girl exile, hopeless waif of Empire, I could not cheer one soldier on his way ; I had no gold to give, I could not even Hang out my own dear flag to greet the day. Where quiet fields swam to my eyelids smarting, No echo of the shouting, reached my ear ; I could not see them in their pride, departing, Nor the glad tumult clustering at the pier. Yet, oh my Empire, under your flag's floating, My deeper love, remembers you to-night ; And faith climbs closer to the veiled to-morrow To-morrow shall not victory " tell the fight ? " Elizabeth Catfer, N. Jersey, U.S.A. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 17 AMERICA TO ENGLAND. O Motherland, we hope with thee, That soon triumphant thou wilt be The Conqueror. Not for the sake that thou should'st gain All untold wealth beyond the sea, But for the mighty truth. The motto long emblazoned on thy crest Has been, " Protection to thy sons in every clime," Where'er they roam, whate'er should be their quest They're Britain's Sons. The march of civilization thou hast led, From northern seas to India's tropic shores, For God and Country, have thy legions sped O'er desert lands. If gold or love of conquest drove thee on, To spill thy children's blood in foreign lands, Yet did they die in peace. For never hast thou left an unripe field The curse of ignorance, or that of kings But ever hast thou been the shield Of Liberty. Fight on ! We hope with thee : On Afric's slopes our hearts will be, Until the end. The blood of ancient Britain fills our veins We hear the war cry and the bugle strains, And pray with thee. Fight on ! Our battles and thine own, For Britain's glory and the race, That yet shall live, tho' every field be strewn With patriot dead. Denman S. Wagstaff, late Col. Michigan National Guard, Detroit, Mich., U.S.A. 18 POEMS AND SONGS UNDISHEARTENED. Steady, England, on the left flank- On the right flank form again; Mass your columns on the centre; Stand to colours, Englishmen ! England's Empire has not fallen, Though a thousand men are slain ; Yet a thousand times a thousand " Rule Britannia " shall maintain. Aye, a thousand times a thousand Lives have welcomed sacrifice, Thus to win and hold and cherish England's Empire paid the price. Checked and baffled, yet undaunted, See the conquering flag unfurled ; Herald-ensign of the tardy " Federation of the World." Steady, England, undisheartened, Still the " Thin Red Line " remains, Rally ! Rally to the rescue ! Let the end wipe out the stains. Heed not hungry, waiting vultures ; Let them hover, yet forbear, For the Lion still is monarch And our'Eagle watches there. Mark, Columbia is neutral, Friendlier than the watchful three ; Wait : Britannia and Columbia With a hand-clasp span the sea. By the paths we trod together, By the blood that mingled then ; By the charter-rights we wrested By the mother-tongue of men ; ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 19 By the right that sons inherit By the pluck that won our own, By the ties that bind all kindred By " their fruits " both may be known. By the darkness dissipated, By the battles she has fought, By the realms emancipated, By the progress she has wrought. By the bulwarks based on manhood, By the torch of freedom borne, By the tests that make an Empire England's glory is unshorn. By the light that shines in darkness, Lent to pierce the future's veil, England's past shall prove prophetic, England's Empire shall prevail. Steady, England, on the left flank ; See, the right flank forms again ; Forward ! Close up flanks and centre Irish, Scotch and Englishmen ! J. H. J. in " The Worcester Spy." ODE TO BRITANNIA. In all the ever happy lands beneath the genial sky, Where Britain's light of freedom doth abound, The cause of all true liberty doth never fade or die, Nor thrall of wicked tyranny be found. In excelsis gloria, Britannia, Victoria, Rule the wave, O Britain, bravely as of yore : Freedom's call o'er sea and land, trumpet notes of glory- Knell of basest bigots heard on Afric's golden shore. When Ulster's men of long ago, in Inniskilling town, For just laws and for conscience sake, so nobly made their stand, And the cry of Londonderry, unto Britain did resound, 'Twas " No surrender, freemen," it is the Lord's command. 20 POEMS AND SONGS In excelsis gloria, Hibernia, Victoria ! Evermore the tyrants vile the deadly charge will fear; Of Erin's sons whose trusty steel does drive the foes before them, For freedom's cause, and Britain's name, and home, and all things dear. Tho' even in these present days of liberty and right, And peace, enjoyed in English speaking lands: The cry still rings in other lands, aloud, for light, To stand against oppression's base commands. In excelsis gloria, Canada, Australia ! And all Britannia'^ children, in every land or clime, Thy fealty and thy daring so gallantly defending, The sacred cause of freedom, will be lauded for all time. J. C. Collins, Chicago. POEMS ON THE WAR. " SPARTAN MOTHERS." " One more embrace, then, o'er the main And nobly play the soldier's part." Thus speaks, amid the martial strain, The Spartan mother's aching heart. She hides her woe. She bids him go. And tread the path his fathers trod. "Who fights for England, fights for God." Helpless to help, she waits, she weeps, And listens for the far-off fray, He scours the gorge ; he scales the steeps, Scatters the foe Away ! Away ! Feigned is their flight. Smite ! again smite. How fleet their steeds ! How nimbly shod ! She kneels, she prays: " Protect him, God ! " ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 21 The sister's sigh, the maiden's tear, The wife's, the widow's stifled wail, These nerve the hand, these brace the spear ; And speed them over veldt and vale. What is to him, Or life or limb, Who rends the chain, and breaks the rod, Who falls for freedom, falls for God. And should it be his happy fate, Hale to return to home and rest, She will be standing at the gate, To fold him to her trembling breast. Or should he fall, By ridge or wall And lie 'neath some green southern sod, Who dies for country, sleeps with God. Alfred Austin, Poet Laureate of Great Britain. " THE EMBLEMS IN 1900." Said the Rose : " I must spread my petals sweet With a deeper bloom than for years, A rich, red glow the world must greet, Wet with dew from the Empire's tears." Said the Thistle : " My bristles like bayonets bright Must stand out with new force and pride, Whilst a purple pall I spread over all Who as heroes fall side by side." Said the Shamrock : " This year I must sprout and grow And wander o'er many a mile To cover the graves of our hero-sons Who lie far from the sod of our Isle. The courage that's born in old .Erin's ' boys ' Will be found where'er war is seen, And the Empire's tears though they dampen our joys Will freshen the Shamrock's green." 22 POEMS AND SONGS -The deepened hue in the ruby's sheen The fuller tone in the amethyst's gem, The richer sparkle in emerald green, Will give to the crown on our monarch's brow An added lustre, a greater charm ; Whilst the Empire's tears fall thick and warm And burnish the ruby, the purple, the green, In the circlet of gold that is worn by our Queen. E. B. M. THE VOICES. Do you know the meaning of it, why the anxious nations pause, Pause and listen to the voices muttering near ? Why the aching eyes are watching for the shifting of the flaws, As the hovering clouds upon them drift and veer ? Yea, we know the meaning of it, but the issue no man knoweth, For the darkness hides our faces from the day, And the fever in our bosoms like a smouldering fire gloweth While the mothers of the nations wait and pray ; Spare our sons, O Lord, and grant us peace ! Thus the mothers of the nations silent pray. Can we know the reason for it, why the nations anxious wait ? Why they choose to drink the wormwood and the gall, Why the vengeful souls are burning, swelling, cankered with their hate, Why we cannot read the writing on the wall ? Yea, we know the reason for it, 'tis the pent-up brute within us Grinds our faces in the darkness and the dust ; And we waver in the blackness as the brutish voices win us, Whispering stripe for stripe and thrust for thrust. And the echo never dies, but answers ever Eye for eye and tooth for tooth and thrust for thrust. Oh, the dread, the pity of it ; Oh, the victims of the strife; Oh, the mighty tools of Death that mar the main ! Though the voices whisper louder: Thrust for thrust and life for life, Let us pause and count the richness of our gain. Though our souls grow dull and weary as the nations war together, Let us pause and strive to pierce the dusky veil ; ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 2$ Though the years are onward fleeting and we cannot grasp the tether,. Let us ask why stained and bloody is their trail. And we ask our souls the question, though we wait in vain the answer, Like the prophets of a deaf and sleeping Baal. Frank Call, Frelighsburg, Que. BOUND YET FREE. Beside a running mountain stream A poplar tall and fair, Held rule supreme, and none around Might her high office share ; For e'en the roaring waters owned That she was empress there ; And right across the rolling stream Her graceful shadow threw To where upon the other bank An offshoot poplar grew, Whose roots were intertwined with hers, That nought could part the two. Now, like the poplar, Britain stands, And she is ocean's queen, How proudly does she bear the name, And irightly, too, I ween, While proud are we and close we cling, Though waters roll between ; So we who grow from out her roots Will cling to her through all ; Should need arise, Britannia knows We'd follow at her call, Resolved to stand as Britain stands ! To fall, could Britain fall. Ethelwyn. 24 POEMS AND SONGS WHO'S THAT CALLING ? Who's that calling ? It comes from far away, The voice of a brother o'er the sea, It says : " Am I a stranger, That you leave me in danger, Oh, my brothers, will you stretch a hand to me ? Send us the flag ! The red cross flag ! Send us the banner that we love ! We long for it, we sigh for it, To live for it, to die for it God save the Red Cross flag ! " Who's that calling ? It comes from far away, The voice of a brother in the West, " We are loyal, we are true, We are flesh and blood of you. We are coming with our bravest and our best. Bearing the flag, The red cross flag, Bearing the banner that we love. And is it stormy weather ! Then we sink or swim together, God save the Red Cross flag ! " Who's that calling ? It comes from far away, A voice from the far Paciiic main, " And shall we be behind When the banner's in the wind, And the old game is playing once again ? We're for the flag, The red cross flag, We're for the flag that is our own. Do you ask a heart to care for it ? A hand to do and dare for it ? God save the Red Cross flag ! " ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 25 Who's that calling ? The old sea-mother calls, In her pride at the children that she bore ! " Oh, noble hearts and true, There is work for us to do, And we'll do it as we've* done it oft before, Under the flag, The red cross flag, Under the flag our fathers bore ; They died in days gone by for it, As we will gladly die for it, God save the Red Cross flag ! " A. Conan Doyle, " London Daily News." THE OLD COLORS. For the first time in history, the British army has marched into battle with no colors at its head. They have been left at home, sometimes hung in churches and cathedrals. The following fine verses from " The London Outlook " are in reference to this fact: That rent is Talavera, that patch is Inkerman, A hundred times in a hundred climes the battle round them ran; But that is an ended chapter, they will not go to-day ; Hang them above as a link of love where the women come to pray. In the country of the cactus, in the vale of Al Rashed, I took them away from a boy who lay in a ring of the dying- dead ; Dead but he smiled as living ; dead but his hand held this, The banner had been as the grace of his Queen (God's light be hers and his.) Perhaps when all is quiet, and the moon looks through the pane, Under that shred the splendid dead are marshalled once again, % And hear the guns in the desert, and see the lines on the hill, And follow the steel of the lance and feel that England is England still. 26 POEMS AND SONGS INFLEXIBLE AS FATE. When, for a passing hour, Rome's manly sway Felt the sharp shock of Cannae's adverse day, Forum and field and Senate house were rent With cries of Not misgiving nor lament ; Only of men contending, men who said Purchase the spot on which the victor stood. Legion on legion sprang up from the ground, Gleamed through the land, then over ocean wound, Till Scipio's eagles swarmed on Afric's shore And Carthage perished, to insult no more. Not less resolved than Rome, now England stands, Facing foul fortune with unfaltering hands ; Through her vast realm is neither fear nor feud, But calm in strength and steeled in fortitude. She fills the gaps of death with eager life That will not lag nor haggle in the strife, Till, having backward rolled the lawless tide Of trusted treason, tyranny and pride, Her flag hath brought, inflexible as fate, Charter of Freedom to a fettered state. Alfred Austin. FOR HONOR. Britannia, armed, goes forth to war To fling aside a half-closed door. She bears the blazoned British shield, And none but her that spear can wield. Come ! Who will follow, who will ride, For England's honor, at her side ? Sons of Britannia ! You shall fight Not solely for your country's right ; Wise-ruling Peace's life is made The guerdon of our rescuing blade, Not for your heritage alone For progress, fainting on her throne. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 27 The corn-seed dies to yield the ear, By Death comes Life in higher sphere, Fear not to die ! The best we give Shall rear the best die we, or live As fell the heroes of our race That we might live to fill their place. God is not mocked ! His Law shall run, His chariot wheels are rolling on, Who dares to stay them ? Let us stand To clear the path a steadfast band. As we have dealt, in ages past, Oh, Lord ! deal Thou with us, at last ! " London Chronicle." THE SITUATION. See Britannia's wandering brood Call'd from various realms afar, Staunch of heart, and stern of mood, Mustering in the pomp of war ! What stirs the Sea-Queen's blood to-day ? Why marshals she her proud array ? Not for desert pastime these, With their fix'd and flaming eyes ; Not in sport they cross'd the seas, Dar'd the glare of Afric's skies : Why, then, do the bold roamers come To camp and trench, from hearth and home ? Heard ye not that ruthless men, While the sated Lion slept, Tow'rd her lone, unguarded den, Over veldt and kopje crept, Intent, while yet supine she lay, To bear a weanling cub away ? But behold the spoiler's hand Scarce had touch'd the straggling limb, When amid that robber band Rose the Lion stark and grim ; And with a roar of rage and pride Summon'd her offspring to her side. 28 POEMS AND SONGS These are they : regard them well ; Blanch'd of snows, and bronz'd with sun ; Needless here the tale to tell Of the deeds that race hath done. Now in good sooth the Boer will feel A foeman worthy of his steel. What must, then, the issue be ? Will the raider backward crawl ? Nay ! too late to turn and flee One must stand, and one must fall. And 'gainst the might of fang and claw What can avail yon spears of straw ? Robert Reid, Montreal. CANADIAN SONS OP OUR GREAT EMPIRE. O ! Proudly I'll sing, till the far echoes ring, of my Native Land, Go ! Sail the Main, you'll search in vain, for one so grand ; 'Tis the home of the Beaver, the Maple Leaf, Pray! excuse, if you don't admire, The keen fervour which runs thro' Canadian Sons of Our Great Empire. Chorus. For As a British subject I was born, so, a British subject will I die, For, could I own the Earth, I'd count it nothing worth, Till on ev'ry hand, I saw the grand Old British Flag on high. From the great Rockies' crest, whereon Eagles nest, o'er dark defiles, To the East and West, see Nature dress'd, and wreath'd in smiles ; They have titled Our Land " The Lady of Snows," which hath almost rous'd our ire, As a blessing Snow comes to Canadian Sons of Our Great Empire. Chorus. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 29 O! Our beautiful Land, 'tis great and it's grand, 'tis the best on Earth; 'Tis a haven of health, and its mineral wealth doth attest its worth, Just gaze on our limitless grain-bearing fields, which are all that our farmers desire, Golden grain's golden funds for Canadian Sons of Our Great Empire. Chorus. Songs of triumph we'll raise, to honour and praise, (till life expires,) They who fought, and bled, where duty led, Our Conq'ring Sires, Like them too we'll fight, and Britannia's foe smite, with the old- time vigour and fire, Till he dies, yields,, or runs from Canadian Sons of Our Great Empire. Chorus. For As true British subjects we were born, So true British subjects will we die, For could we own the Earth, We'd count it nothing worth, Till, on ev'ry hand, we saw the grand Old British Flag on high. Drum-Major W. R. Boyd, 5th Royal Scots of Canada, Montreal. THE VOLUNTEER. The man's voice broke as he gently spoke To the mother-eyes serene; Yours to command, and yours to love, In past days I have been. And yours with love I always am, Though seas may roll between; Not yours, this year, to command, my dear, For I've sworn to serve the Queen. Yet ere he went where the Queen has sent, Her servants brave and free, He spoke a word for a maid to hear, And he now belongs to three; Three who shall guide where'er he roves, On the veldt or on the sea, Who pray to-night for our soldier bright, His mother, the Queen, and me.. Clytie. 30 POEMS AND SONGS DEFIANCE TO THE FOE! To the Canadian Transvaal Contingent. Embark, sail hence, Canadian lads, like Britishers of yore; Speed on, a strong true-hearted band, to face the unjust Boer, When danger lurks 'gainst Motherland who said that you were weak? Who said, when others stood to .strike, that our stout sons were meek? Now let's unite in strength and might, and thus the nations show, That every voice in this land bids defiance to the foe! In days of yore bold Britons bled for freedom dearly bought; These heroes gave on land and wave their lives; and thus they taught That when our day of duty came, we'd watch with jealous care The foes that stand menacing Britain's Empire, now so fair! Then let's unite in strength and might, and thus all nations show That every voice in this land bids defiance to the foe! Anon. FRIENDLY VOICE FROM NORWAY. The following venses, translated from a longer rhyme in Nor- wegian, are addressed to Britannia's 'eagle,' by Kristofer Randers: You now meet with disaster on field after field, Your warriors have fallen and died, And/the ocean you rule is of no help to you. Where your soldiers now fight side by side; And they all watch their chance, they who wish for your fall, Just because your great power them defies, And from Seine, Rhine, and Neva, and Spree can be heard, A chorus of threatening cries. But you stand there as firm as a rock 'gainst the storm, All lashed by the spray and the foam; And there fell not one leader, nor sounded one voice, Breathing doubt or despair in your home, No calmly, you answered: We have but commenced, And by Patience we'll win our reward, Though a year shall pass by, and the century's dawn Be hailed by the clash of the sword! ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 31 THIS CANADA OF OURS. In Canada, the freedom, Which Britons love so well, Fills every heart with gladness Makes every bosom swell. So, raise aloft your voices! Invoke the heavenly powers To bless our fair Dominion, This Canada of ours! Chorus Then raise aloft your voices! Invoke the heavenly powers To bless our fair Dominion, This Canada of ours! In Canada, the toiler Has scope for honest toil, Her waters, plains and forests, Her mines below the soil. Send forth their bounteous harvests; While sunshine, frosts and showers Chase o'er our vast Dominion, This Canada of ours. Chorus In Canada, we firmly Stand up as Britons should, The foremost in the cause of right Of truthfulness and good. And when our gracious Sovereign Needs to increase her powers, She confidently, then, can trust This Canada of ours. Chorus James Crankshaw, B.C.L., Montreal. CANADA'S GIFT. The Christmas bells ring out again Their "peace on earth, good-will toward men.' Peace ! and there soundeth from afar The tumult of a mighty war. 32 POEMS AND SONGS mother England o'er the sea ! Thy daughter's Christmas gift to thee Is strong men armed for the Empire serving, To show my loyalty unswerving. My land is rich in stalwart sons, I've picked for thee my choicest ones ; Those without blemish in my eyes, Of them I make the sacrifice. 1 give the best I have to give, I send them forth to die or live Forth, where the fires of war are burning, I speak no word of the lads returning. Disheartening rumors still are rife, Come sickening tales of loss of life ; Long, long grows Britain's roll of fame With many a loved and cherished name Of heroes who will never come To hear their country's welcome home ! We thrill to the martial deeds, with wonder.' All honor to those who sleep out yonder ! There must, there shall be victory ! But till there comes that glorious day I wait with fears I cannot tell, I loved my lads so well, so well. God rest the feet that dare not tire, God guide the eyes that look through fire, Steady the hands until the story Rings round the world to Britain's glory. Mrs. Effie I. Forster, Toronto. "A NEW POWER IN THE WORLD." " Whose heart did not swell with the pride of patriotism, when he learned from the bravery of our Boys in the field, a new power had arisen in the West." Ringing words from the lips of Premier Laurier. " A new Power has arisen in the West," Triumphant hath its rapid progress been, Betwixt the Seas ; whose valour, lately seen On Afric's veldts, withstood the trying test, ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 33 Of steel and shell, with England's fighters best: God-speed, safe back, fresh " Soldiers of the Queen," But, yester, treading paths of Peace serene. Tomorrow, war! "Strathcona Horse" abreast ! Under the banners of Victoria, By the storm'd trenches where the Boers dwelt, Our brave Boys have already fought and won; All worthy their great Mother, Canada, Blent with the blood of loyal Scot, and Celt, Sprung from the loins of Prance and Albion. Dr. A. H. Chandler, Cocagne, N.B. WAR. The battle cry is sounding, And forth to the war men go, From comforts and peace surrounding To danger, distresis and woe ; To horrors of death appalling, They march and we say, ' God-speed' ! For they answer their country's calling In the hour of her direst need. They murmur not, nor dally, But volunteer over the world ; Around the standard they rally To keep it aloft unfurled. For banner and Queen and nation They fight, for their country's good, Glory, promotion or station, For Britain as Britons should. But what of the other story, The suffering, the .dead, the loss, Dark shadow of war's great glory, Her Crown is the nation's cross. Sons, husbands, fathers and brothers, Whom vict'ry can ne'er restore, The weeping of wives and mothers For those who return no more. 34 POEMS AND SONGS The love of freedom inspiring, For boundary of land, or fame, Nation on nation firing To slaughter, despoil or maim. May God, in His grace abounding, Heal hearts that grow sad and sore. Soon, the noise of the battle sounding Be heard in our land no more. Katherine A. Clarke, Toronto. THE CANADIAN : A TOAST. Tough-muscled Canuck, Blend of Gallic fire and British pluck, I love thee best of all the free, I pledge my fullest glass to thee, Here's luck. No man hath seen A better home than thine where'er he's been, Lord of the Northland, thou art made With a soul in thee like a temper'd blade, Bright and keen. Long life and joy To thee my tough Canuck thou best alloy Of pioneer and hero blood, Thou foremost lad o'er field and flood, Britain's boy. Hon. T. R. E. Mclnnes, Government House, Victoria, B.C. PROM CANADA. Mother and Queen, from the golden West, We offer in love at the foot of thy throne, All we can give thee, our dearest and best, Flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone, Take them, Queen of the brave and free, They come in their love to die for thee. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 35 Mother and Queen, from farm and mart, From bank and factory, hill and plain, They gather in love for a noble Heart, To lighten its sorrow and bear its pain, Take them, Queen of the brave and free, They come in their love to die for thee. Mother and Queen, our homes were bright And pure as the air of the sunlit north. But tears have darkened the woman's sight Since the day that the brother and son went forth, Take them, Queen of the brave and free, Who come in their love to die for thee. Mother and Queen of the spotless throne, Lady and Lord of the sea and land, Thou makest our far-born sons thine own By the tender clasp of a woman's hand, Take them, Queen of the brave and free, They come in their love to die for thee. Mother and Queen, from the strong, glad West, From the rivers and plains where our children roam, We give thee our dearest, our bravest and best, Take them, Queen of our heart and home, Asking no bounty, favour or fee, They come in their love to die for thee. Revd. Frederick George Scott, Quebec. CANADA'S SONS ARE THY SONS. Art thou among my children ? Then hearken to my call. Thy brothers wait upon thee, Now hasten lest they fall. The bond of Empire binds thee ; The ties of blood are thick. Answer before thine own sons, But let thy aid be quick. 36 POEMS AND SONGS Mother of mighty Empire Thou callest not in vain. We of thy womb have hearkened, And we respond again. Canada's sons are thy sons, Loyal are they to each. Witness O God of battles The lesson this will teach. A unit when foe threatens, Resistless in our might. The call to arms we answer, Shoulder to shoulder fight. The bond that binds us ever, The flag that flies on high, We glory in as Britons ; For it we'll fight and die. Send to our brothers greeting, Bid them be of good heart. Brothers to brothers hasten, Only in death to part. G. M. Fairchild, Jr., Quebec. OUR BIT OF " THE THIN RED LINE." They have gone with a people's hopes and prayers, Out over the eastern brine, To strike for the might of Britain's right, This bit of " the thin red line." They have gone by danger of flood and field, As their brave sires went of yore, To fight and bleed for the world's great need, As Britons have bled before. To slay or be slain for the loved old flag, In the cause of the just and true To stand for the right of common earth And the heaven's open blue. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 37 And over our loyal land to-night, Where the stars of our freedom shine, From all true hearts the prayer goes up For our bit of " the thin red line." They have gone to fight the freeman's fight, For our far off kith and kin : Brothers of our own blood and breed, In the fight where the right must win ; For the sacred cause of freedom's laws, To win the glad release, Of those who tread 'neath tyrannies dread, And widen the gates of peace. And shame on the 'soul on British soil, Where the stars of freedom shine, Who will not pray in his heart to-night For our bit of " the thin red line." We send them forth from our " True North," For sacred bond and sign, That well or ill, to the great brave end, We are Britons from brine to brine And whenever the Lion's hunters are put, And danger threatens his lair, Be the world on this side, he on that, Canadian hearts are there And stand or fall, though we go to the wall, Canadian hearts are true, Not only to stand for our own birth land, But to die for the Empire too. Yea, we send them forth, from our " True North," Sons of the Empire's might And alien the heart that will not pray For our soldier-boys to-night. Yea, traitor the heart that 'takes our bread, And drinks our free sunshine, That will not throb when the battle joins, For our bit of " the thin red line." W. Wilfred Campbell, Ottawa. 38 POEMS AND SONGS WHILE OUR SOLDIERS ARE DREAMING OP HOME. Hush thee, O turbulent wind of the north ! Cease thy wild, treacherous play ; Curb thy fleet steeds in their reckless career, Flecked with the white ocean spray ! Rest thee, fierce pulse of the clamorous deep ! Calm the mad pranks of thy wave ! Guard thou the vessel where, dreaming to-night, Sleep the chosen of Canada's brave. Shine o'er them tenderly, pale stars of night ; Though valiant soldiers they be. Bless the young hearts that are dreaming of home, Out on the lone-tossing sea ! Lead them, thou glorious flag of the free, To hasten an Empire's joy ! Cheer the sad hearts that are waiting at home News of their brave soldier boy. Miss Margaret Evans, Hampton, N.B. TRANSVAAL HO ! Sons of a clime where freedom reigns, And brethren breathe alike God's air ; Go ! Break forever serfdom's chain, And hunt each hell hound from his lair. What tho' a varied host you seem, Shoulder to shoulder firmly stand ? What heart may face your rifles' gleam, Or test your skill of eye and hand ? Great ocean calm your swelling waves And keep your fierce winds in your hold ; No Viking marshalls here his slaves ! To waste your shores, or grasp men's gold ; Our sons, tho' arm'd, are arm'd for peace, The knife the periled limb must save ; Where'er they tread, mens' wrongs, shall cease, And up shall spring the trodden slave. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 39 And when loud swells- the battle's din, And shot and shell rend earth and sky, Our thoughts for you will rise to Him, Who sends our meed from heavens high. While mothers, sisters, sweethearts pray, And mingle with each prayer a sigh, Your . Fathers aye will proudly say, We know our boys will " Do or die." May Afric troubles cease to toss ; May Cape and Cairo dayspring see ; Till all beneath the " Southern Cross " Raise one grand song of liberty ! Revd. Duncan Anderson, Monymusk, Que. OUR LADS. Our lads go forth like knights of old To arid plains, o'er surging sea, Led by no lust of hireling gold But love of sacred liberty ! Our sea-girt mother-isle, from far, Summons her children, scattered wide ; They spring, as wakes the note of war, To fight for freedom, at her side ! They hasten, at her call, To battle, in our name ! Resound the loud acclaim, God shield them one and all ! We follow on, with thought and prayers. In the rich-freighted vessel's wake, Through northern chill, through tropic airs- Oh winds, blow softly for her sake ! She bears the hopes of hearts that bleed With parting pangs, with aching fears ; Oh hear our Canada's God-speed ! Thou who must lead, where duty steers '. They go, at duty's call To battle, in our name; Resound the loud acclaim; God shield them, one and all I 40 POEMS AND SONGS What peaceful years essayed to do Crisis and sorrow swift complete, Stir our wide Empire through and through, Till, with one throb, her pulses beat ! From pine-crowned hill and sun-baked strand, From Queen and peasant, cot and hall, One yearning breathes from land to land, God guard our warriors, one and all ! They go at Britain's call, To battle in her name, Resound the loud acclaim, God guard them one and all ! Oh God of battles, Truth and Right, Who seest, as no mortal may, Whose hand can guide through passion's night, To* dawning of a glorious day ; Grant victory, as Thou seest best, Melt hate to love, till slaughter cease, Lay sword in sheath, and lance in rest, And bring our wanderers home in peace ! They go, at Britain's call To battle in our name, Resound the loud acclaim, God guard them one and all ! Miss Agnes Maule Mackar, (" Fidelis ") Kingston. A PLEDGE. Lord Ernest Hamilton contributes these few lines to the Pall Mall Gazette under the above title. " Canada, Australasia, we stock of >a Northern land, Are stiff, and reserved, and proud, and the words that we speak are few ; But we look you straight in the face, and we grip your out- stretched hand, And God deal so with us, as we deal, in your need, with you." ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 41 AFRICA. Thunder of guns on the mainland, Trooping of ships on the sea, Hissing of shot and screaming of shells, What may this tumult be ? Look ! from the north and the south ; See ! from the east and the west, An Empire's sons, from every clime, Are touched by a strange unrest. Thunder of guns on the mainland, Speeding of ships from afar ; Sons of the Empire, east and west, Are one in the strife of war. East and west in the strife are they, One in the contest joined ; And the lagging world looks after them, From the lowlands far behind. Thunder of guns on the mainland, Trooping of ships at sea, Hissing of shot and screaming of shell, Boom out the century ; For east and west are one in the strife When the war-drum beats alarms : And an Empire's sons, from every clime, Shall meet the world in arms. Revd. R. Newell, Markdale, Ont. CANADA TO THE EMPIRE. We come, Britannia, at thy call, Whig and Tory, Celt and Gaul, A serried square, a mitred wall, Of British subjects we. We come from Abraham's ancient plain, From Queenston Heights and Lundy's Lane And as we march our one refrain, Is loyalty to Thee. 42 POEMS AND SONGS And, as at Ogdensburg of yore, Allegiance, priest and pastor swore, And crucifix and broad claymore Did vie in Loyalty. Even so to-day, we firmly stand, All creeds and classes, hand in hand, As loyal to the Motherland, In sweet community. A thonsand strong, we represent The might of half a continent, In aim and inspiration blent, Britannia, one with Thee. In sinews of expanding girth, The peer of any power on earth ; Of thew, or heart, or life, the worth, We hold it all for Thee. Britannia nursed us at her breast, Our infancy, her hand caressed, Our every wrong, her love redressed With tenderest agony. From tutelage she taught the way To nationhood's self-conscious sway ; And shall we not, in part, repay This love-wrought legacy ? Stout champion of freedom's ward, Of righteous laws defender, guard, Desrpoiler of the despot's shard, Empire, we come to thee. Empire of peaceful arts, the home, We stand beneath thine ancient dome, And help roll back in broken foam Each storm that threatens Thee. Now frantic nations in mad hate Defiance loud hurl at thy gate, And jealous of thy high estate ; Empire, we come to Thee. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 43 All one, in heritage and heart, In travail thou, in reins we smart, Whatever fate may be thy part, We stand or fall with Thee. The first in all thy vast domains, And thine own valor in our veins, To purge the earth of serfdom stains, Empire, we come to Thee. Thy burdens we take up and bear, That in thy triumphs we may share, And proudly show what we can dare, Empire, for love of Thee. And, if the worst come to the worst, And powers in concert on thee burst, Our blood shall quench their hellish thirst, Or e'er we yield or flee. Lord God of Hosts, her sun and shield, No power on earth can make her yield, Or force Britannia from the field Of proud supremacy. God bless our country and our Queen, God grant us peace, broad-based between A suffrage wise and conduct clean, Our prayer shall ever be. Revd. P. M. McEachern, Waterdown, Ont. TO THE CANADIAN CONTINGENT. We've rallied round the old flag, we leave our native land. Singing our own Canadian war song. We're going to help old England on Afric's sunny strand. Singing our own .Canadian war song. CHORUS. The Empire forever the flag all so scarred, Our brothers are calling, we haste to their aid ; And we'll fight beneath the old flag for which our fathers fought, Singing our own Canadian war song. 44 POEMS AND SONGS Let the God of battle hearken, we march to meet the foe. Singing our own Canadian war song. And joined with brother Atkins the Boers we'll overthrow. Singing our own Canadian war song. CHOEUS. The Empire forever the flag all so scarred, Ou-r brothers are calling, we haste to their aid ; And we'll fight beneath the old flag for which our fathers fought, Singing our own Canadian war song. We'll fight like British soldiers, our honor we'll defend, Singing our own Canadian war song. Our bullets they will whistle we're in it to the end. Singing our own Canadian war song. CHORUS. The Empire forever the flag all so scarred, Our brothers are calling, we haste to their aid ; And we'll fight beneath the old flag for which our fathers fought, Singing our own Canadian war song. When the fighting all is ended, and we are home once more, Singing our own Canadian war song. The bond of Empire strengthened we're loyal to the core, Singing our own Canadian war song. CHORUS. The Empire forever the flag all so scarred, Our brothers are calling, we haste to their aid ; And we'll fight beneath the old flag for which our fathers fought, Singing our own Canadian war song. G. M. Fairchild, Jr., Quebec. OUR CONTINGENT. There's a cry upon the air From a land supremely fair, A cry for British justice and fair play; There, oppression, growing bold, Ever grasps a firmer hold Of all ' Outlanders ' rights, they say. N ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 45 But, the whole world must know, That ' Our Lady of the Snow,' Could not listen to such a cry for aid ; And cold and heartlessly, Her blood relations, see Pierc'd by a Boers' savage blade. Though it' truly a ' far cry,' And there's chance for some to die, She bids her bravest sons to arm, And boldly cross the sea, To make those Boers flee Ere they can do much harm. Her stalwart sons, so bold ; Young, middle-aged, and old, Are preparing in haste for the fray; But they are not all required, Though with martial glory fired, Some heroes at. home must stay. But those, that cross the main, When they return again, We'll crown their heads with laurel green. For we know they'll win the day, And end oppression's isway, To the glory and the honor of our Queen. But we, old 'vets,' that remain, W^ill sing the old refrain, "Rule Britannia, Britain rules the waves," i Till the song on echo's pinion Flies the length of this Dominion, " Oh, Britons never shall be slaves ! " W. H. Cox, Granby, Que. TO ARMS ! TO ARMS ! A SONG FOR THE CANADIAN CONTINGENT. To arms ! to arms ! all England's sons rise up from east and west; What matter if a thousand guns are pointed at the breast ? For Britons never will be slaves, oppressors, or oppressed ! 46 POEMS AND SONGS Rise up! rise up! heroic race, the bravest of the earth ; For matrons stern, with noble hearts, were they that gave thee birth ; And many a 'sire his blood hath shed to prove his nation's worth. Quail not! quail not! what matters it though thousand foes advance; Remember how the Dervish horde was pierced by British lance : Remember too the "thin, red, line" that marked the fall of France! To arms! to arms! for mother land, and strike the deadly blow ! Let crimson blood wash hill and dale, and stain the ocean's flow ! And down with him who furls the flag or lays the Empire low ! Strike for the flag, the glorious flag, that waves o'er land and sea. Stand man to man in serried rank, for God will side with thee ! A thousnad ,suns may rise and set, but still on England free ! To arms! to arms! brave Albion's sons, rise up from east and west! What matter if a thousand guns are pointed at the breast ? The British race shall still remain thrice-happy and thrice-blest ! R. H. Phillimore, M.D., Cookshire, Que. INVOCATION. / O God, Creator, look not down In wrath upon Thy creatures' strife, Pity our frames of dust, and bring Some good from out this " life for life." Thou ridest on the beams of light, And markest scenes of woe and death. Where man his fellow's blood doth spill, And triumphs in his latest breath. O Thou, from whom all good doth spring Author of Justice, Truth and Right, O'ershadow, with protecting wing, Our brothers, foremost in the fight. Guard each as precious in Thy sight, The lives Thou gavest, safely hide Within the hollow of Thy hand, Till Peace shall reign and Right preside. Miss Margaret Howe Pennington, Halifax. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 47 A PRAYER DURING BATTLE. TO OUE COMRADES IN SOUTH AFRICA. Father, I call on Thee : Belching guns shroud me in vapor and fume, Death's awful lightnings fast flash in the gloom, Ruler of Battles, I call on Thee ; Father,i oh! guide Thou me. Father, oh! guide Thou me : Lead me to victory, or to death in the strife, Lord, I avow Thee, Thou Sovereign of Life ! Lord, as Thou wilt, then, oh ! guide Thou me : God, I confess but Thee. God, I confess but Thee : As in the whisp'ring of leaves in the night, So in the thunder and storm of the fight, Fountain of Grace ! I perceive but Thee : Father, then, bless Thou me. Father, then bless Thou me : Into Thy hands, my poor life, I resign : Thou canst recall it: all life is Thine : Living or dying, oh! bless Thou me : Father, I worship Thee. Father, I worship Thee : This is no conflict for earthly lust, O.Lord, Man's sacred rights, we adjust by the sword : Dying or conquering, I bow to Thee : Father, I yield to Thee. Father, I yield to Thee : Stricken be I, by the lightning of Death, Gushing my heart's blood, and failing my breath, Receive me, Jehovah ! I yield to Thee : God ! I appeal to Thee ! W. A. Wanless, Sergt. R.C.A., London, Ont. 48 POEMS AND SONGS THE EMPIRE'S BATTLE-HYMN. Lord God, who long hast been our shield Than Whom there is no higher Power Our homage now to Thee we yield, Lord, guide us in dread battle's hour. Give us, we pray, Thy guiding light, That we may tread the path of Right. Our loved Empire is at war, And we believe our cause is just ; Thou Who guidest every star ! In Thee alone we put our trust. Lord God of battles, if Thou wilt, Our blood in vain shall not be spilt. Our fight we know is Freedom's own, In Freedom's cause we draw the blade ; To overthrow the tyrant's throne We now implore Thy mighty aid. Lord, if we fight for gold or greed, Grant us that we may not succeed. The stubborn prejudice and hate, The selfish pride of race and creed, The tyranny of small and great, On men of our own British breed ; Does not all this a cause afford For drawing now the Empire's sword ? Our children, through the tedious yeans, Have borne too long oppression's frown ; Now when bright Liberty appears, And Thou hast cast the despot down, O King of kings and Lord or lords, Let us not use vain boastful words ! Lord God! be Thou our Empire's guide In peace and war, in calm and strife ; Shoulder by shoulder, side by side, Give us the strength to guard her life. Thro' luring light and darkness deep, O Lord, Thy chosen Empire keep ! W. F. Wiggins, Toronto. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 49 FAREWELL ! To the 1st Canadian contingent on their departure from Quebec. Good-bye, Canadians. On far Afric's strand, You'll be the warders of a country's pride ; On you whatever good or ill betide Depends the honour of your native land. Your every act an Empire's eyes will see ; Upon your courage rests a people's fame ; In foreign climes 'tis yours to guard a name Blood bought on Abram's plain for chivalry. We wish you God-speed all your mission through : We pray that fortune may your steps attend ; Our hearts are with you in whate'er you do ; We know full well our trust you will defend. Brothers, adieu! an earnest, warm adieu ! In life, in death to Canada be true. George Graham Currie. COMFORT. " The Queen grieved continually over the terrible loss of life in South Africa." (London Paper). " The love of all thy people, comfort thee," Thy sweetest poet voiced the tender thought, And would repeat it, had he lived to see The sorrow that the closing year has brought Upon thy royal heart ; as each sad day Thou mourn'st thy dead and dying, nor canst be Won ever to forgetfulness, yet may The love of all thy people comfort thee. The love of all thy people, in thine Isles They toiled for peace and prayed for it though strong Their cause, fearless their hearts, they yearned that smiles, Not tears, should be thy portion all day long. And those who die to keep thine Empire whole, And all within its borders, safe and free, Pray, even in the passing of the soul, Almighty God to bless and comfort thee. 50 POEMS AND SONGS And we, in those new lands, thou hast not seen. Strong, proud, free children of the South or West, After our God, we reverence thee, our Queen, And offer our heart's-dearest and our best ; And each would make thy heavy grief his own, So that thou mightest from the weight |be free : May this rich warmth of love about thee thrown, This love of all thy people, comfort thee. Miss Sarah E. Srigley, Britainville, Ont. " WHAT WE HAVE WE'LL HOLD.' Dear old England ! we are thine, Thine in peace or war, Sons, who for thy glory shine E'en in battle sore, Strike, for liberty for others, As in days of old, We are Britons, men and brothers, " What we have we'll hold." Mother country ! to thy need Swift thy children fly, Equal freedom still our creed, Dare to do and die, For the love of home and nation Not for gain or gold, We but fight for thy salvation, " What we have we'll hold." Miss Katherine A. Clarke, Toronto. THE GRAY MOTHER. Lo, how they come to me, Long through the night I call them, Ah, how they turn to me. East and South my children scatter, North and West the world they wander, ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 51 Yet they come back to me, Come with their brave hearts beating, Longing to die for me. Me, the gray, old, weary mother, Throned amid the Northern waters, Where they have died for me, Died with their songs around me, Girding my shores for me. Narrow was my dwelling for them, Homes they builded o'er the ocean, Yet they leave all for me, Hearing their mother calling, Bringing their lives for me. Far from South 'seas swiftly sailing, Out from under stars I know not, Come they to fight for me, Sons of the sons I nurtured, God keep them safe for me. Long ago their fathers saved me, Died for me among the heather. Now they come back to me, Come, in their children's children, Brave of the brave for me. In the wilds and waves they slumber, Deep they slumber in the deserts, Rise they from graves to me, Graves where they lay forgotten, Shades of the brave for me. Yet my soul is veiled in sadness, For I see them fall and perish, Strewing the hills for me, Claiming the world in dying, Bought with their blood for me. 52 POEMS AND SONGS Hear the gray, old Northern mother, Blessing now her dying children, God keep ye safe for me, Christ watch ye in your sleeping, Where ye have died for me. And when God's own slogan soundeth, All the dead world's dust awaking, Ah, will ye look for me ? Bravely we'll stand together, I and my sons with me. L. MacLean Watt. The Spectator, London. THE CHILDREN OF THE BLOOD. Is this the North Wind sweeping down to snap the storm-bent pine. Or the South Wind whirling spindrift from Fuego to the Line ? No! East or West, fling out your best against the sea cliff sheer ; Far clearer than your storm-wind is the call that greets us here. Where'er the Three Cross Banner waves you hear the summons roll, From mountain crest to river bed, from Tropic to the, Pole. It floats out o'er the lonely veldt, across the prairie grass ; It strikes the busy merchant's ear where hurrying thousands pass ; Then crashing o'er the granite peak, it bids the hillman come ; The stockman gathers from the plain, the dalesman from his home. Men hear it in the workshop as it echoes) down the street, It stirs the ready hand to arm, the loyal heart to beat, It peals o'er the desert waste, it thunders o'er the flood, The Free Land's call to Free Men, to the Children of the Blood. Where'er that brave old Banner flaunts bur Triple Cross on high, Where'er the Lion's cubs are reared, rings out the stern reply, "We hear thy voice, Great Mother, and we answer to thy call, The offspring of thy mighty loins, spread o'er the seagirt ball. We stand with thee in union, Lord God, be Thou our guide, Wield Thou the Sword of Justice,, but this link let none divide ! We bring our lives, a free gift, for the land all freemen love, For liberty and equal law, our charter from above." And as, when dark clouds low'red of old, our Fathers grimly stood, So now, before the Nations, stand the Children of the Blood. C. M., in London " Speaker." ON THE SOUTH AFEICAN WAR. 53 GOOD-BY. The following verses were found in the tunic pocket of a trooper in the Imperial Yeomanry, killed in a South African skirmish. They were in a girl's handwriting. Your way lies over the hillside, Out in the rain and sleet ; Out in the world's wide turmoil, Where bustle and business meet. But mine by the noiseless fireside, Where the fanciful embers glow With a changeful, life-like motion . Kiss me before you go. My quiet way will be haunted With visions none other can see, Glances morei precious than diamonds, Smiles full of meaning to me. The sound of a welcome footstep, A whisper thrillingly low. Ah, thought will clasp memory closely ! Kiss me before you go. For this world is full of mischances, And one of these chances may fall That we ne'er again in the firelight Make one shadow upon the wall. Oh, thence, once more in parting Alas ! that it must be so Leave me a fond benediction Kiss me before you go. THE VOICE OF THE WOMEN OF ENGLAND. We have lent to our country all (Well knowing, well counting the cost), . By her colours to stand or fall, The Treasures we held to the most. 54 POEMS AND SONGS In the sigh of our wak'ning breath, In the sob of our nightly prayer, We know, to the portals of death, Our brave ones will do or dare. And the wires of fate have in charge The tidings for which we sicken, Whether terrors our hearts enlarge, Or fond hopes our pulses quicken. Ah! what shall be born of to-day, Or what, then, brought forth to-morrow, Is the care that has come to stay, The anxious thought, kin to> sorrow. 'Tis the link that in close-drawn band A near brings us each unto each, With helping hand held out to hand In emotions too potent for speech. If the lessons we're learning to-day Were needed in truth and in deed, To show us the narrow Gateway, And lead us therein to make speed. Then, grant us to lay it to heart, Let, Father, Thy chastening cease, Make foul fiends of war to depart, And send us white Angels of peace ! E. C. (Countess of) Cork. Pall Mall Gazette. A WOMAN'S THOUGHT. Those left behind ! Oh, hardest lot of all ; None of the fierce excitement of the fight; Only the weary waiting for the news, The patient toil by day, the watch by night. "Brave soldiers!" we have said, who saw them go, With stern, set faces, eager for the fray, Bade them "God speed!" then turned us home again, To do our woman's work to wait and pray. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 55 To scan with anxious eyes the awful list, Which tells us who are wounded, who are dead, And still do little deeds of tender love, In the hushed home from which all joy is fled. They have gone forth to help the sore oppressed, We, left behind, can still the labor share ; Theirs be the fierce 'excitement and the fight, Ours the strong wrestling on the Mount of Prayer! Ellen M. Blunt. A SOLDIER'S TREASURE. With a rose in the rim of his fawn-colored hat, And a jingle of sabre and spur, A soldier rode by in the dawn and the dew Ere the village was scarcely astir. The patter and clatter of sharp little hoofs Brought her into tne window above ; Her eyes were as blue as the sky overhead, Unclouded by sorrow or love. In the gold of the sunrise they halted below, Bay mare and brave rider, a space, And her 'kerchief dropped out as she leaned from the sill, A fragment of linen and lace. He caught it in air on the point of his sword, And buttoned it under his blouse, And cantered away, but drew rein on the hill, And turned to look back at the house. While v she dreamed of a soldier returning from war, To halt at her window again, The mare and her rmer lay dead in the dust Where bullets were falling like rain ; And a comrade who passed in a moment of truce, Stopped over and covered his face With a 'kerchief he found in the breast of his blouse, A fragment of linen and lace. Minna Irving, in Leslie's Weekly. 56 POEMS AND SONGS CRY OF THE BROKEN-HEARTED. When the day of battle is ended, And the cruel suspense is past ; When the hours of anguished waiting Are over for all at last. Then those who are reunited Will offer their praise to God But the lad I have waited and longed for Lies, voiceless, under the sod. There were many who climbed the hillside When they stormed the enemy's post, There was many a cheer outringing For the triumph of -Britain'si host. There were many who .stood unwounded, Unharmed, at the set of sun, But the lad I have waited and longed for, His day of battle was done. Ere long by many a fireside They will tell of that gallant fight, They will praise those warrior heroes, The power of Britain's might. They will speak with awestruck voices! Of their comrades among the slain But the lad I have waited and longed for Will speak to me never again. You are dead for your Queen and your country ; You are dead in your honor and pride ! You are dead that your brother soldiers Might rise with the trumpet-tide! You have paid the price of their glory, As a soldier would wish to do Ah! but my lad that I've longed for My heart's just breaKing for you ! Dora Tickeis. The Queen. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 57 WHISPERS OP WAR. Told by One of the Forty-Third. There are whispers in the canteen, there are whispers in the mess, There are whispers wheresoever walked a lad in soldier dress, Just another such a whisper as the one that grew and grew, Till it burst in cannon's thunder on the plains of Waterloo. It was only just a murmur, but a murmur low and deep, Like a lion's angry growling when you rouse it from its, sleep ; But it's reached the golden Indies and the wild Canadian shore, Bound to sipeak again in cannon, as the lion's bound to roar. And the burden of them whispers ran like this, "It's> bound to come ; Pull the Lion's tail and wake him and you'll find he isn't dumb ; And if you want to work him up to action rougher still, Rouse his mem'ry too, and whisper in his ear, 'Majuba Hill ! ' " We've been patient ; don't get talking about foreign policy ; It is time our debt to settle, and what is to be will be. We've had one bill receipted, just sent home from the Soudan, And to settle up another we are ready to a man." Ay, it's reached where'er our language makes the music of the breeze, For I've just received a letter from a chum across the seas; And he says, "We all are waiting with old England heart and hand For to settle that account, boy, just received from Boerland." There was whispers in the canteen, there was whispers in the mess, Till they found a vent in poetry, or we'd had to burst, I guess. And we wrote a little ballad, an' we all put in a word ; Here it is, "A British War-Song," by the fignting Forty-Third. There's a blot upon our story, Say whate'er you will, ' Tis that field of death and glory Called Majuba Hill. There our vaunted pride was smitten Unavenged as yet And the honest heart of Britain Burns to pay the debt. 58 POEMS AND SONGS Dark Majuba, yet how glorious Deeds that lit the fray ! What of him who held victorious Shot and shell at bay? Ay! we've heard the story often, And we'll hear it still, How the flag of truce held Farmer On Majuba Hill. Should be heard the loud war-rattle, What have we to fear ? There is music in a battle Unto Britons dear. Dread and dangeir make us calmer, Strengthen heart and will. Ay, there's many a lad like Farmer In our Army still. Who is he that comes a-looking Neither left nor right ; With the self-same mien he carried In the hottest fight ? Eyes of steel that match the fiery Gleam of cross and star ; Stern and sturdy, stin and wiry Bobs of Candahar. Who is he to fear a stranger, On, 'mid shell and shot, With a smile for death and danger Who could daunt a Scot? It is he whose swo>rd made brightness In the dark Soudan ; (jiorious and victorious Hector Of Macdonald's clan. Let tne drums and trumpets rattle, Need we shrink away ? With such men to guide the battle Could we lose the day ? Nay, we would retrieve our honour, Fighting on until Brightest boast upon our banner, , Dark Majuba Hill. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 59 Now there ain't a Rudyard Kipling in .the fighting Forty-Third ; But it just expressed our feelings and our very souls is stirred ; For there's something in the rumour of a war that seems to start Into action the old Briton in the weakest English heart. True, I know all men are brothers, or at least they ought to be, But at bay we can't help standing we're a fighting family. Kate Bishop (Kay Bee). THE BRITISH WALL. Hammers that beat and hands that weave And brains that scheme and plan, Hearts working out in hope and doubt The destiny of man ; All these are found with the foam ringed round, Where the circling oillowa fall, From the guardian sea that lips the key That centres tne British wall. On floating bridges it spans the ridges That seethe on soundless deeps, To stretch its banu o'er a northern land From the dykes to the Rocky steeps^ In prairies broad, in forests dim, By lakes and mountains tall, The builders build with purpose grim The grand, old British wall. It spans the foam that beats like snow On the coral-dotted sea. To rise in tropic summer's glow On the isles of wild Fiji And dusky men by the palm and cane Where the red-plumed parrots call In the blistering beat of a torrid heat Are building the British wall. 60 POEMS AND SONGS And down where the mighty Austral isles Are set in the Southern sea, Where the sheep graze wild O'er the countless miles And untold treasures be. In darksome mines, on sunburnt plains, They are building it straight and tall And soldering good with their kindred blood This tower of the British wall. Where the tigers creep through the jungles deep ' Neath the snow of Himalay From the surf that roars on the Madras shores, To the mute, towers of Bombay ; There are. millions baked by an Indian. sun Swarthy, and lithe and tall, Who will prove in the reek of the foeman's gun True bricks in the British wall. Where the Nile pours down her hundred rills ; Where Natal stands by the sea ; Where Capetown lies by the silent hills ; Ships peacefully riding a-lee. Though the Boer may growl, and the Kaffir bark And the Arab howling fall We have hemmed in a continental park With the strength of tne British wall. A steep rock frowns by the narrowing flood Of the Mediterranean blue ; Its guns have a scent for alien blood On the war-ships steaming through. There's a sandy hill and a lonely isle Where the waves of the Red Sea fall ; And Aden and Perim grimly smile ; " We are bricks in the British wall." Of various tongues and climes remote, We have builded them everyone In a solid line, no seas confine ; That knows no setting sun, We have circled the world with a cordon brave. And so braced are its girders all, That the cannon's shot and the dash of the wave But strengthen the British wall. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 61 So we say to the Frank and the Muscovite And the Boer : " So be it known ! You may dash yourselves like a bird in flight That strikes on a shaft of stone ; But while Freedom stands and men hate a lie, While Justice reigns o'er all, Your blood will but strengthen and beautify The face of the British wall." " The Star," Montreal. BRITANNIA'S PICCANINNY. This poem is from the " Natal Advertiser," which will appeal to our readers. " We are not very big, but we have done our best for the honor of the Empire and the integrity of South Africa, and we ask for one favor, that the British and Colonial press will not imagine that Natal is a town in the Cape Colony any more." E. C. W., Natal. She's the smallest of the children In the dear Old Lady's shoe, And yet the lass has shown the rest The sort of thing to do ; For while they have been waiting, Why, she's knocked things into shape, And shamed Miss Wacht-en-Beetje And her cousins at the Cape. Chorus She's Britannia's Piccaninny ; If she isn't very big, She's a Daughter of the Empire, So she doesn't care a fig, Tho's she landed in the front of it And bound to bear the brunt of it ; The grim and grisly brunt of it ! Natal ! 62 POEMS AND SONGS She's a plucky little midget, If she doesn't run to size, And though she's but a feather-weight She'll wipe the Dutchman's eyes. The way she peeled her jacket Shows the good old lighting strain ; And what Britannia's sons have done Natal will do again ! When they told her men were wanted, Well, she vowed she would be first, And rolled her volunteers along ; Before the storm should burst ; So, while the Cape was wavering, And Kept her colors hid, Natalia flung her flag aloft And just sailed in and 'did' ! Yes, we love this Piccaninny, And will gather round her shield, Sworn to keep her motto stainless On the red and bloody field ; For she's left her honor's keeping To her trusty Volunteers, So they greet Natalia's banner With a storm of ringing cheers. Chorus She's Britannia's Piccaninny ; I she isn't very big, She's a Daughter of the Empire, So she doesn't care a fig. THE LION'S WHELPS. There is scarlet on the forehead, There are scars across his face, 'Tis the bloody dew of battle dripping down, dripping down, But the war heart of the lion Turns to iron in its place, ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 63 When he halts to face disaster, when he turns to meet disgrace, Stung and keen and mettled with the life blood of his own, Let the hunters 'ware who flout him When he calls his whelps about him, When he sets the goal before him and he settles to the pace. Tricked and wounded ! Are we beaten Though they hold our strength at play ? We have faced these things aforetimes, long ago, long ago, From sunlit Sydney Harbor And ten thousand mnes away, From the far Canadian forests to the sounds of Milford Bay, They have answered, they have answered, and we know the answer now, From the Britons such as these, Strewn across 'the worldwide seas, Oome the rally and the bugle note that makes us one to-day. Beaten! Let them come against us,. We can meet them one and all, We have faced the world aforetimes, not in vain, not in vain. Twice ten thousand hearts we widowed, Twice ten thousand hearts may fall, But a million voices answer : "We are ready for the call, And the sword we draw for justice shall not see its sheath again, Nor our cannon cease to thunder Till we break their strength asunder And the Lion's whelps are round him and the Old Flag over all." Queensland, Australia News. "THE ISLAND QUEEN." She hath raised her hand, the Island Queen, For a brand's been thrown in the Lion's den, And the answer's borne by armed men, Roll of drums and clatter of steel, Champing of steeds and bugle peal, A wail of sorrow and last good-night, And cheers for those who go to fight, Children of the Queen. 64 POEMS AND SONGS She hath raised her hand, the Island Queen, The black smoke foams from the funnel mouth Of a flying squadron speeding south : Free to the winds their pennants stream, Where, storm wreck drives and seabirds scream, And the dawn sun kisses the muzzles grim Of the war hounds leashed in the turrets dim, Children of the Queen. She hath raised her hand, the Island Queen, From a hundred hins a flood pours down Of stern men clad in khaki brown, Ghoorka, Afridi, Sikh, Sepoy, Highlanders, heroes of Dargai, Line of cavalry, riflemen, guide, Hurrying down to the trooper's side, Children of the Queen. She hath raised her hand, the Island Queen, A cry comes up from the Austral land, "We send our best for the Motherland"; And Canada's voice sweeps round the world, Wherever the meteor flag's unfurled, " Saxon sired, full kin are we, Bred by the Mistress of the Sea," Children of the Queen. She hath raised her hand, the Island Queen, And Buller's a hundred thousand men, And standing behind them millions ten, Or twenty if 'ever the need should be, Ready to stand or fight or die, With " Queen and Empire " battle ciry, Children of the Queen. She will raise her hand, the Island Queen, And lightning seal the Maxim's lips, And peace flags float from a thousand ships, When a stubborn foe is forced to yield. And .swords be sheathed on a reddened field ; " We have beaten you fair Brave men are ye, Go to your homes and henceforth be Children of the Queen." R. D. Meyers. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR 65 BRITANNIA MILITANS. The Empire's drum is beating ; its roll goes round the world, To winds nor iair, nor fleeting, its banner stands unfurled. The foeman, fierce and hating, behind his bastion stands, In courage scarcely bating, the best of Britain's bands. The Empire's hosts are mustering, on Afric's burning veldts; Prom the four winds are clustering, brave Anglo-Saxon Celts. They come, free men, responding, to Britain's martial call ; No craven hearts desponding, in dread of Britain's fall. Our forces face the foeman, repelled, they face him still ; They turn their back to no man, they stand with dogged will. Though rocks and bullets stay them, they yet will gain the day, No earthly power can bray them, they clench their teeth, they pray. Old Britain's heart is throbbing, with all the fire of youth ; Though crushed betimes, and sobbing, she fights for God and truth. And truth will be prevailing; and God will speed the right ; The tyranny assailing, shall perish all despite. Her power was never greater, she knows no panic fright ; She stands, though nations hate her, majestic in her might. She calls. Her sons abounding, come over land and wave; These are her walls surrounding, these will her honor save. Rev. Andrew MacNab, Lucknow, Ont. LINES ON THE WAR. Throughout the long dull night the bivouac fires Gleam fitfully, while men in ambush creep From rock to crevice, as the foe retires As stealthily beyond where sentries keep Their nightly vigil, and the long watch tires The weary eye forbidden now to sleep ; While the deep silence reigns, so soon to yield To storm and tumult over camp and field. 66 POEMS AND SONGS And while in homes far off beyond the sea The mothers, wives, and sweetheart of the brave Lift holy hands to Heaven imploringly, That He who notes the sparrow's fall, may save Each cherished one ; yet Britons must be free, And freedom's price is havoc and the grave ; And many a heart, with hope now beating fast, Shall rot in foreign wilds when all is past ! Yet from that soil shall spring in after years A harvest of requital, such as brings Joy to the reapers, when the mist of tears Has passed away for ever on the wings Of fluttering darkness, and a day appears Of ceaseless progress, which imaginings Could never dream of, and which speaks release, And boundless empire, and a world at peace. Rev. J. R. Newell, Markdale, Ont. WAR. The battle cry is sounding and forth to the war men go, From comforts and peace surrounding, to danger, distress and woe, To horrors of death appalling they march and we say "God-speed," For they answer their country's -calling, in the hour of her direst need. They murmur not, nor dally, but volunteer over the world, Around the standard they rally, to keep it aloft, unfurled, For banner and Queen and nation, they fight for their country's good, Glory, promotion or station, for Britain as Britons should. But what of the other story, the suffering, the dead, the loss, Dark shadow of war's great glory, her crown is the nation's cross, Sons, husbands, fathers and brothers, whom victory can ne'er restore, The weeping of wives and mothers for those who return no more. The love of country inspiring, for boundary of land, or fame, Nation on nation firing, to slaughter, despoil or maim, May God in His grace abounding, heal hearts that are sad and sore, And the noise of the battle sounding, be heard in our land no more. Miss Katherine Clarke, Toronto. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 67 IN WAR TIME. Southward are iaces set The stirring music of the marching feet, That woke the nations with its rhythmic beat, Rings on the pavement yet. Across the earth and sea A long line stretches men and men and men ; We may not look upon the like again, Nor braver sight could be ! Yonder among the guns, The wine of life and Britain knows its price Is poured out in a lavish sacrifice, Where fall her precious ones. This page of history Written in warriors' blood and women's tears ; Ending the mighty volume of the years, That make our century Will be a tale sublime, When the great empire-heart grows calm again ; Britannia's eyes, through all this stress and pain, Look to that after-time. Mrs. Effie I. Forster. THE SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS DREAM. 'Tis Christmas Eve in Africa, and night holds silent sway. The British troops are resting, after a long and weary day. A soldier wirapt in slumber lay there dreaming of his home In Canada's far-off northern clime, across Atlantic's foam. ***** * He once again is seated by his own endeared fireside, Familiar forms surround him at this happy Christmas-tide. The festooned room is gayly decked with wreaths of evergreen, And holly boughs and mistletoe are deftly twined between. 68 POEMS AND SONGS His dear old mother by the fire sits knitting in her chair ; Her loving features lighted by the pleasant ruddy glare. And bending o'er the baby's cot is his darling love and wife, Whose winsome smiles have often smoothed the rugged path of life. While gathered round their father's chair, his chubby little boys Can talk of naught but Santa Glaus, and skates, and games, and toys. When bedtime comes, they climb his knee, to kiss a fond " Good- Night," And hanging up their stockings, they retire in great delight. Then how his heart is gladdened, as he decks the Christmas tree, And thinks of all the morrow's joys, and the loud and childish glee. While from without the merry peal of the joyous Christmas bells Ring out anew "Good Will and Peace"; on the frosty air it dwells. * * * * * * He wakes; but hark, that sound is strife! And look, a rifle's gleam! Alas, the vision of his home was but a passing dream ! The bells were the boom of cannon, his couch the blood-stained veldt ; His roof is the vault of heaven, and war is the joy he felt, But like a soldier and a man, he'll proudly take his stand, And fight, as true Canadians should, for 1 Home and Motherland. , Thomas Whelan, Montreal. THE HIGHLAND SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. Farewell, my highland hame, A long farewell, May I return again, Oh ! who can tell ! Oh ! but my heart is wae ; Good-bye is hard to say, But time -brooks no delay, Farewell, farewell. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 69 Hark! 'tis the bugle's trill, Loudly and clear, And the wild war-pipes' shrill, Falls on my ear ; On Afric's distant shore, Mid war's wild din and roar; Dear land, I'll love thee more, Farewell, farewell. But if kind fortune wills, I shall return, To my loved heather hills, No more to mourn ; When war's wild blasts blow by, No more the heaving sigh, Or the sad parting ory, Farewell, farewell. E. Bain, Montreal. THE MARCH OF THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE. ' Tis the March ! 'tis the march ! of the Highland Brigade, Caledonia's sons of the kilt and the plaid, Ay foremost in danger, right onward they go, They have but one object, and that is the foe, The pipers are blowing wi' might an' wi' main, The Gordons and Campbells are coming again, The bayonets are fixed, mark the flash of the steel, See ! see ! how the foeman fall backward and reel. Chorus. Then forward the men of the Highland Brigade, Ay ready and willing, and never dismayed, True sons of McGregor, Argyll and Lochiel, McKenzie, McDonald, McLean and McNeil. Your auld mither Scotia remembers wi' pride How your prowess and courage oft turned the tide, When the issue was doubtful, and brave men did fear, How the Highland Brigade thundered up wi' a cheer; 70 POEMS AND SONGS Then shoulder to shoulder, brave sons of old Gaul, Be ay true to your colours, whatever befall, As ye march proudly forward sae gallant an' true, Auld Scotland expects that your duty you'll do. Chorus. So proudly ye march wi' your colours before, Emblazoned wi' actions and battles galore, Corunna, Quebec and famed Waterloo, In Egypt, the Alma, and India too, And the Boers of the Transvaal (tho'. bravely they fought), Had to yield to the charge of the conquering Scot, Then keep bright your name, lads, and ne'er let it fade, And your country will honour the Highland Brigade. Chorus. E. Bain, Montreal. THE BRAES O' DEE. A Lament for the Highlanders Slain in South Africa. 'Twas gloamin' i' the Brackley wuds, and sweet the mavis sang, As do on the jinkin' burnie's side I tentily did gang; And there I spied a lanely lass, fair as the flow'rs o' spring, But unco,waesome were the words I heard the lassie sing: " Hae dune, hae dune, ye bonnie birds, that lilt sae blythe a strain; How can ye even hint o' joy to ane whase joys are gane ? Nae voice, but that o' -dule, should ring amang the braes o' Dee, Sin' cruel war has stown the pride o' a' the North Countree." I crap ahint a birken bush, and e'ed the dolefu' maid, The win' had tirl'd her raven locks, the dew was on her plaid ; She cuist to heaven an eerie look wad cowed a heart o' stane, And aye she clash'd her lily looves, and aye she made her maen: " Yestreen the Glamour seiz'd my saul and lang entranc'd I lay; I saw the deid-lichts burnin' blue on bonnie Inveraye; The jowin' o' an eldricht bell was soundin' owre the Dee, And plaided Shapes, wi' never a sign, gade linkin' doon Glenshee." ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 71 By this I trow'd the lass was fey, and fain had slipt awa, For death or madness was the doom where'er her glance micht fa'; But wi' a set and shilpit face, she heedless pas&'d me by, And far into the getherin' mirk I heard her waefu' cry: " O, hon a rie ! O, hon a rie ! they lie by ford and steep, The wild beast o' the desert howls abune their dreamless sleep; And far>ifrae Castle Gordon's Craigs, and frae the braes o' Dee, The bluidy sands hae smoor'd the pride o' a' the North Countree ! " Robert Reid, Montreal. Brackley, Glenshee, Inveraye, Castle Gordon, Deeside. All names of places in the Gordon country, Scotland. THE DIRGE OF THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE. Out wailed the Pipes to the Strains of the " Flowers of the Forest." Oh, ((strangely, o'er the veldt, where winds the Modder River, Sounds the pibroch on the sultry tropic air, Sadly marched the broken remnant, while the bagpipes' wailing quiver Wails the dead "Flower" of Scotland, lying there! There's a long, lonely grave near by the Modder water, Where the round hills rise purple towards the sky, And the greening veldt is red with yestreen's cruel slaughter, There, far from Bonny Scotland, they must lie! Oh, there's mourning, 'mang the hills and on the heather, There's sorrow supped in mony a strath and glen, For the gallant hearts that sleep the long, last sleep together, For the lads who shall ne'er see home again ! " Dule and Wae," the bagpipes moaned, " for the fatal night and order Sent the lads into the deadly ambushed line," But they fought and fell, unflinching, on the sun-baked Afric border, As their fathers did on Flodden field, langsyne ! " Steady, men ! " the leader shouted, as the storm of bullets, flying, .Rained down, sudden, from the blazing mouth of hell; 72 POEMS AND SONGS Then, 'mid the grassy hillocks, their brave General lay dying, With his men around him, fighting, as they fell ! Oh, there's mourning, 'mang the hills and on the heather, There's sorrow supped in mony a strath and glen, For the gallant hearts that sleep the long last sleep together, For the lads who Shall ne'er see home again ! Bravely charged the " Light Brigade," through Death's valley, dark and gory, And there's mony a British trophy of renown, But there's nane among them touched, with a more pathetic story Than the tartans that so gallantly went down ! Oh faithful on to death they guarded Britain's flag and honor, 'Mid their ancient foemen, fighting, side by side, Though far from Bonny Scotland, their last thought was upon her, Let them rest in peace together, where they died ! Oh there's mourning 'mang the hills and on the heather, There's sorrow supped in mony a strath and glen, For the gallant hearts that sleep the long last sleep together, For those who shall ne'er see home again ! Miss Agness Maule Machar, (Author of "Lays of the True North.") THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE AT MAGERSFONTEIN. Hats off, and a cheer for the Highland Brigade, That march'd to its fate like a corps on parade, With plaids flung back, and the blue steel gleaming, And shrill in the starlight the war-pipe screaming! Would ye know how the records of heroes are made ? Oome listen this tale of the Higland Brigade. The General gazed with a troubled eye On the scowling ramparts, grim and high; ' The way will be rough, and the fighting hot, I needs must call on the doughty Scot,' And forth at the word, all undismay'd, With a skirl o' the pipes went the Highland Brigade. ON THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR. 73 Proud children of Albyn ! 'twas ever the same, Too well have ye paid for your matchless fame ! , Must Death in his starkest shape be defied ? Or a well nigh hopeless task be tried ? Whereon can the army's trust be stayed If not on the might of the Highland Brigade ? But this was a deed of derring do, Too hopeless even for such as you ! For the mountain belch'd forth shot and shell, And smok'd and nam'd like the mouth of Hell: And caught in the murderous ambuscade With their chief i' the midst, fell the Highland Brigade ! Weep not, sad hearts on the Scottish shore, That wait for the lads who will come no more: Man dies gut once, and your dear ones fell On the battlefield they grac'd so well ; True to the annals of name and clan, As their sires have fall'n since the world began, With their hand on the steel, and their face to the foe, And the God of battles to see them go ! And long will their memory's dues be paid, A cheer, and a tear, for the Highland Brigade ! Robert Reid, Montreal. A TALE OF TWO CENTURIES. Saratoga, 1777 Fraser. The virgin hills are clad In their primeval beauty, No son of toil and care Had ever wooed and won The maiden earth Of Saratoga. 74 POEMS AND SONGS Yet in her welling heart Are bubbling springs' Of healing sympathy, For all who come In need of rest To Saratoga. The first of his white race,* A wounded soldier, Seeks rest ; and in this place Of quiet solitude, In Saratoga. > The murmuring spring Now ( low, sweet songsi of icomfort\ sing, And cools the fevered brow, Of the first wooer Of Saratoga. Full two decades have passed, The Indian trail is almost obsolete, Peace reigns ; war paint and hunting game Are on the, wane, And peaceful farms now clothe the land, Of Saratoga. Once more the festering cry Of war rings