When God's great voice assembles
The fleet on Judgment Day,

The ghosts of ruined ships will rise
In sea and strait and bay.
Though they have lain for ages
Beneath the changeless flood,
They shall be white as silver,

But one-shall be like blood.

By permission, THE NEW YORK TIMES.

JOYCE KILMER.

Joyce Kilmer: POEMS, ESSAYS AND LETTERS, with Memoir by R. C. Holliday.

Copyright 1914, 1917 and 1918, by GEORGE H. DORAN Co., Publishers.

CHILDREN OF FRANCE

Dear little sad-eyed children of France,
Once on a time, when the world was gay,
In the streets of Paris you danced and sang,
God grant you again a happy day,
Sad little children of France.

Wan little weary-eyed children of France,
In the streets of Paris you knelt to-day,
Knelt at the sight of a succoring flag,

Knelt in the streets where you used to play,
Heart-broken children of France.

We are thinking to-day of the long ago,
Kneeling children, beyond the sea,

When your fathers came, with hearts aflame,
To us, in the name of liberty,

Fatherless children of France.

Fair by the side of the Red, White and Blue,
The Stars and Stripes in your streets are a-blow!
Never so beautiful, now they glow

In the name of that help of the long ago,
Kneeling babies of France.

You knelt in your streets as our flag went by
Our flag with a glory strangely new.
The stars of heaven gleamed in its folds,
Strewn but to-day in that field of blue,
For you, O children of France!

Dear little war-smitten children of France,
In our hearts is a prayer as the flag goes by-
For the flag we have vowed to a glorious quest,
For the flag aflame on a far away sky,

For God-and the babies of France.

By permission, LIFE.

GERTRUDE ROBINSON.

AMERICA AT WAR

AMERICA,

If thy sons can go to war

Thinking

If men democracy-trained can fight

And not glory in it

But earnestly regret that war must be

If they can follow thy banner

And know

That its red does not represent blood
But sunrise,

permission, THE POETS OF THE FUTURE, Stratford Co.

YOUNG FELLOW MY LAD

Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad, this glittering morn of May?"

Pm going to join the Colours, Dad; ey're looking for men, they say."

Fut you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad; aren't obliged to go."

m seventeen and a quarter, Dad,

ever so strong, you know."

you're off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,

I you're looking so fit and bright."

n terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,

I feel that I'm doing right."

od bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad;

Pre all of my life, you know."

n't worry. I'll soon be back, dear Dad,

I'm awfully proud to go."

hy don't you write, Young Fellow My Lad?

Ech for the post each day;

I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,

it's months since you went away.

And I've had the fire in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here I sit
Into the quiet night."

"What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad; No letter again to-day.

Why did the postman look so sad,

And sigh as he turned away?

I hear them tell that we've gained new ground,

But a terrible price we've paid:

God grant, my boy, that you're safe and sound;

But, oh, I'm afraid, afraid."

"They've told me the truth, Young Fellow My Lad;

You'll never come back again:

(Oh God! the dreams and the dreams I've had,

And the hopes I've nursed in vain!)

For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,

And you proved in the cruel test

Of the screaming shell and the battle hell

That my boy was one of the best.

"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,

In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.

And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,

While life is noble and true;

For all our beauty and hope and joy

We will owe to our lads like you.'

ROBERT W. SERVICE.

From RHYMES OF A RED CROSS MAN, by Robert W. Service, published by Barse & Hopkins, New York.

permission, Wilson, THE LITTLE FLAG ON MAIN STREET, Mac