PREFACE

These are verses that came to me in this dreadful war time amid the cares and labors of a heavy task.

Two of the poems, "A Scrap of Paper" and "Stand Fast," were written in 1914 and bore the signature Civis Americanus—the use of my own name at the time being impossible. Two others, "Lights Out" and "Remarks about Kings," were read for me by Robert Underwood Johnson at the meeting of the American Academy in Boston, November, 1915, at which I was unable to be present.

The rest of the verses were printed after I had resigned my diplomatic post and was free to say what I thought and felt, without reserve.

The "Interludes in Holland" are thoughts of the peaceful things that will abide for all the world after we have won this war against war.

SYLVANORA, October 1, 1917.

THE RED FLOWER

June 1914

In the pleasant time of Pentecost, By the little river Kyll, I followed the angler's winding path Or waded the stream at will. And the friendly fertile German land Lay round me green and still.

But all day long on the eastern bank Of the river cool and clear, Where the curving track of the double rails Was hardly seen though near, The endless trains of German troops Went rolling down to Trier.

They packed the windows with bullet heads And caps of hodden gray; They laughed and sang and shouted loud When the trains were brought to a stay; They waved their hands and sang again As they went on their iron way.

No shadow fell on the smiling land, No cloud arose in the sky; I could hear the river's quiet tune When the trains had rattled by; But my heart sank low with a heavy sense Of trouble,—I knew not why.

Then came I into a certain field Where the devil's paint-brush spread 'Mid the gray and green of the rolling hills A flaring splotch of red, An evil omen, a bloody sign, And a token of many dead.

I saw in a vision the field-gray horde Break forth at the devil's hour, And trample the earth into crimson mud In the rage of the Will to Power,— All this I dreamed in the valley of Kyll, At the sign of the blood-red flower.

A SCRAP OF PAPER

"Will you go to war just for a scrap of paper?"—Question of the German Chancellor to the British Ambassador, August 3, 1914.

A mocking question! Britain's answer came Swift as the light and searching as the flame.

"Yes, for a scrap of paper we will fight Till our last breath, and God defend the right!

"A scrap of paper where a name is set Is strong as duty's pledge and honor's debt.

"A scrap of paper holds for man and wife The sacrament of love, the bound of life.

"A scrap of paper may be Holy Writ With God's eternal word to hallow it.

"A scrap of paper binds us both to stand Defenders of a neutral neighbor land.

"By God, by faith, by honor, yes! We fight To keep our name upon that paper white."

September, 1914

STAND FAST

Stand fast, Great Britain! Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand One in the faith that makes a mighty land, True to the bond you gave and will not break And fearless in the fight for conscience' sake! Against Giant Robber clad in steel, With blood of trampled Belgium on his heel, Striding through France to strike you down at last, Britain, stand fast!

Stand fast, brave land! The Huns are thundering toward the citadel; They prate of Culture but their path is Hell; Their light is darkness, and the bloody sword They wield and worship is their only Lord. O land where reason stands secure on right, O land where freedom is the source of light, Against the mailed Barbarians' deadly blast, Britain, stand fast!

Stand fast, dear land! Thou island mother of a world-wide race, Whose children speak thy tongue and love thy face, Their hearts and hopes are with thee in the strife, Their hands will break the sword that seeks thy life; Fight on until the Teuton madness cease; Fight bravely on, until the word of peace Is spoken in the English tongue at last, Britain, stand fast!

September, 1914.

LIGHTS OUT

(1915)

"Lights out" along the land, "Lights out" upon the sea. The night must put her hiding hand O'er peaceful towns where children sleep, And peaceful ships that darkly creep Across the waves, as if they were not free.

The dragons of the air, The hell-hounds of the deep, Lurking and prowling everywhere, Go forth to seek their helpless prey, Not knowing whom they maim or slay— Mad harvesters, who care not what they reap.

Out with the tranquil lights, Out with the lights that burn For love and law and human rights! Set back the clock a thousand years: All they have gained now disappears, And the dark ages suddenly return.

Kaiser who loosed wild death And terror in the night God grant you draw no quiet breath, Until the madness you began Is ended, and long-suffering man, Set free from war lords, cries, "Let there be Light."

October, 1915.

Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston, November, 1915.

REMARKS ABOUT KINGS

God said, "I am tired of kings."—EMERSON.

God said, "I am tired of kings,"— But that was a long time ago! And meantime man said, "No, I like their looks in their robes and rings." So he crowned a few more, And they went on playing the game as before Fighting and spoiling things.

Man said, "I am tired of kings! Sons of the robber-chiefs of yore, They make me pay for their lust and their war; I am the puppet, they pull the strings; The blood of my heart is the wine they drink. I will govern myself for while I think, And see what that brings!"

Then God, who made the first remark, Smiled in the dark.

Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston. November, 1915.

WAR-MUSIC

Break off! Dance no more! Danger is at the door. Music is in arms. To signal war's alarms,

Hark, a sudden trumpet calling Over the hill Why are you calling, trumpet, calling? What is your will?

Men, men, men! Men who are ready to fight For their country's life, and the right. Of a liberty-loving land to be Free, free, free! Free from a tyrant's chain, Free from dishonor's stain, Free to guard and maintain All that her fathers fought for, All that her sons have wrought for, Resolute, brave, and free!

Call again, trumpet, call again, Call up the men! Do you hear the storm of cheers Mingled with the women's tears And the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet? Do you hear the throbbing drum As the hosts of battle come Keeping time, time, time to its beat? O Music give a song To make their spirit strong For the fury of the tempest they must meet.

The hoarse roar Of the monster guns; And the sharp bark Of the lesser guns; The whine of the shells, The rifles' clatter Where the bullets patter, The rattle, rattle, rattle Of the mitrailleuse in battle, And the yells Of the men who charge through hells Where the poison gas descends. And the bursting shrapnel rends Limb from limb In the dim Chaos and clamor of the strife Where no man thinks of his life But only of fighting through, Blindly fighting through, through!

'Tis done At last! The victory won, The dissonance of warfare past!

O Music mourn the dead Whose loyal blood was shed, And sound the taps for every hero slain; Then lend into the song That made their spirit strong, And tell the world they did not die in vain.

Thank God we can see, in the glory of morn, The invincible flag that our fathers defended; And our hearts can repeat what the heroes have sworn, That war shall not end till the war-lust is ended, Then the bloodthirsty sword shall no longer be lord Of the nations oppressed by the conqueror's horde, But the banners of freedom shall peacefully wave O'er the world of the free and the lands of the brave.

May, 1916

MIGHT AND RIGHT

If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts' cage; If Right made Might, this were the golden age; But now, until we win the long campaign Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign.

July 1, 1915.

THE PRICE OF PEACE

Peace without Justice is a low estate,— A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal,— We'll pay the price of war to make it real.

December 28, 1916.

STORM MUSIC

O Music hast thou only heard The laughing river, the singing bird, The murmuring wind in the poplar-trees,— Nothing but Nature's melodies? Nay, thou hearest all her tones, As a Queen must hear! Sounds of wrath and fear, Mutterings, shouts, and moans, Mildness, tumult, and despair,— All she has that shakes the air With voices fierce and wild! Thou art a Queen and not a dreaming child,— Put on thy crown and let us hear thee reign Triumphant in a world of storm and strain!

Echo the long-drawn sighs Of the mounting wind in the pines; And the sobs of the mounting waves that rise In the dark of the troubled deep To break on the beach in fiery lines. Echo the far-off roll of thunder, Rumbling loud And ever louder, under The blue-black curtain of cloud, Where the lightning serpents gleam, Echo the moaning Of the forest in its sleep Like a giant groaning In the torment of a dream.

Now an interval of quiet For a moment holds the air In the breathless hush Of a silent prayer.

Then the sudden rush Of the rain, and the riot Of the shrieking, tearing gale Breaks loose in the night, With a fusillade of hail! Hear the forest fight, With its tossing arms that crack and clash In the thunder's cannonade, While the lightning's forkèd flash Brings the old hero-trees to the ground with a crash! Hear the breakers' deepening roar, Driven like a herd of cattle In the wild stampede of battle, Trampling, trampling, trampling, to overwhelm the shore.

Is it the end of all? Will the land crumble and fall? Nay, for a voice replies Out of the hidden skies, "Thus far, O sea, shalt thou go, So long, O wind, shalt thou blow: Return to your bounds and cease, And let the earth have peace!"

O Music, lead the way— The stormy night is past, Lift up our heads to greet the day, And the joy of things that last.

The dissonance and pain That mortals must endure Are changed in thine immortal strain To something great and pure.

True love will conquer strife, And strength from conflict flows, For discord is the thorn of life And harmony the rose.

May, 1916.