But, as they stood there chaffering, Out from the station came A string of cautious motor-cars, Packed full of lean, brown men,-- The halt, the maimed, the blind, the lame,-- The wreckage of the wars,-- Their faces pinched and full of pain, Their eyes still dazed with stress and strain,-- The nation's creditors.

The Subs, the girls, and Flora stood, There in the pouring rain, And shouted hearty welcomes to The broken, lean-faced men.

And when they'd pa.s.sed, the little Subs Turned to their fun again.

But the biggest heart among them all Beat under the feathered hat;-- "Not me!" she cried, and up, and sped After the boys who had fought and bled,-- "Here's a game worth two o' that!"

She caught the cars, and in she flung Her wares with lavish hand.

"_Narcissus!--vi'lets!_--here, you chaps!

_Primroses! dafs!_--for your rumply caps!

My! Ain't you black-an'-tanned!

_Narcissus! vi'lets!_--all abloom,-- We're glad to see you back.

_Primroses!--dafs!_ Thenk Gawd you laughs, If it's on'y crooked smiles.

We're glad, my lads, to see you home, If your faces are like files."

They thanked her with their crooked smiles, Their bandaged hands they waved, Narcissus, vi'lets, prims, and daffs, They welcomed them with twisted laughs, Quite proper they behaved.

And one said, "You're a Daisy, dear, And if you'd stop the 'bus We'd every one give you a kiss, And so say all of us.

A Daisy, dear, that's what you are."

And the rest,--"You are! You are!"

Then Flora swung her basket high, And tossed her feathered head; To the boys she gave one final wave, And to herself she said,-- "What kind of a silly old fool am I, Playin' the goat like that?-- Chuckin' of all my stock awye, And damaging me 'at?

But them poor lads did look so thin, I couldn't ha' slept if I 'adn't a-bin An' gone an' done this foolish thing.

An' it done them good, an' it done me good, So what's the odds if I does go lean, For a day or two, till the nibs comes in?

A gell like me can always live, An' the bit I had I had to give.

An' he called me a Daisy!--aw--'_Daisy dear!_'

An' I--tell--you, it made me queer,-- With a lump in me throat and a swell right here.

Fust time ever any one called me that, An', I swear, it's better'n a bran new hat."

RED BREAST

I saw one hanging on a tree, And O his face was sad to see,-- _Misery, misery me_!

There were berries red upon his head, And in his hands, and on his feet, But when I tried to pick and eat, They were his blood, and he was dead;-- _Misery, misery me_!

It broke my heart to see him there, So lone and sad in his despair; The nails of woe were through his hands, And through his feet,--_ah, misery me_!

With beak and claws I did my best To loose the nails and set him free, But they were all too strong for me;-- _Misery, misery me_!

I picked and pulled, and did my best, And his red blood stained all my breast; I bit the nails, I pecked the thorn, O, never saw I thorn so worn; But yet I could not get him free;-- _Misery, misery me_!

And never since have I feared man, But ever I seek him when I can, And let him see the wish in me To ease him of his misery.

OUR HEARTS FOR YOU

By the grace of G.o.d and the courage Of the peoples far and wide, By the toil and sweat of those who lived, And the blood of those who died, We have won the fight, we have saved the Right, For the Lord was on our side.

We have come through the valley of shadows, We have won to the light again, We have smitten to earth the evil thing, And our sons have proved them men.

But not alone by our might have we won, For the Lord fought in our van.

When the night was at its darkest, And never a light could we see,-- When earth seemed like to be enslaved In a monstrous tyranny;-- Then the flaming sword of our Over-Lord Struck home for liberty.

All the words in the world cannot tell you What brims in our hearts for you; For the lives you gave our lives to save We offer our hearts to you; We can never repay, we can only pray,-- G.o.d fulfil our hearts for you!

THE BURDENED a.s.s

(AN ALLEGORY)

One day, as I travelled the highway alone, I heard, on in front, a most dolorous groan; And there, round the corner, a weary old a.s.s Was nuzzling the hedge for a mouthful of gra.s.s.

The load that he carried was piled up so high That it blocked half the road and threatened the sky.

Indeed, of himself I could see but a sc.r.a.p, And expected each minute to see that go snap; For beneath all his load I could see but his legs, And they were as thin as the thinnest clothes-pegs.

I said, "O most gentle and innocent beast, Say,--why is your burden so greatly increased?

Who loads you like this, beyond reason and right?

Is it done for a purpose, or just out of spite?

Is it all your own treasures you have in your pack, That crumples your backbone and makes your ribs crack?

It is really too much for an old a.s.s's back."

"Treasures!"--he groaned, through a lump of chewed gra.s.s, "_Are_ they treasures? I don't know. I'm only the a.s.s That carries whatever they all like to pack On my load, without thought of my ribs or my back.

I know there are heaps of things there that I hate, But it's always been so. I guess it's my fate."

And he flicked his long ears, and switched his thin tail, And rasped his rough neck with a hinder-foot nail.

"There are fighting-men somewhere up there, and some fools, And talking-men--heaps--who have quitted their stools To manage the state and direct its affairs, And see, I suppose, that we all get our shares,-- And ladies and lords, and their offspring and heirs, And their flunkeys and toadies, and merchants and wares.-- And parsons and lawyers,--O heaps,--in that box, And big folk and small folk, and all kinds of crocks.

"_That mighty big bale_?--Poison, that,--for the people; Whatever else lacks they must still have their tipple.

That's The Trade, don't you know, that no one can shackle,-- 'Vested Int'rests,' they call it, and that kind of cackle.

Why the Bishops themselves dare not tackle the tipple, For it props up the church and at times builds a steeple."

(A strangely ingenuous old a.s.s, you perceive, Whom any shrewd rascal could easily deceive.)

"_That other big bale_?--What I said,--fighting things,-- Ammunition and guns and these new things with wings, O yes, they bulk big, but we need them,--for why?-- If we hadn't as much as the others have--why, They say we might just as well lie down and die.

"_Yon big bale on top_?--Ah! that is a big weight.

And that's just the one of the lot I most hate.

That's Capital, that is,--and landlords and such; And there seems to me sometimes a bit over-much In that bale. But there,--I'm perhaps wrong again, Such matters are outside an old a.s.s's ken.

"_My fodder_? Oh well, you see,--no room for that.

I pick as I go, and no chance to get fat.

That poison bulks large,--and the landlords, you see;-- And that Capital's heavy as heavy can be.

Some one's bound to go short, and of course that one's ME."

He kicked up one heel with a snort of disgust, And--sudden as though by a giant hand thrust, The top-heavy pack on his lean back revolved, Came crashing to earth, and in fragments dissolved.