The cup of trembling shall be drained quite,
Eaten the sour bread of astonishment,
With ashes of the hearth shall be made white

Our hair, and wailing shall be in the tent:
Then on your guiltier head

Shall our intolerable self-disdain

Wreak suddenly its anger and its pain;
For manifest in that disastrous light

We shall discern the right

And do it, tardily. — O ye who lead,
Take heed!

Blindness we may forgive, but baseness we will smite.

ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES

STREETS of the roaring town,

Hush for him, hush, be still!
He comes, who was stricken down

Doing the word of our will.

Hush! Let him have his state,

Give him his soldier's crown.

The grists of trade can wait

Their grinding at the mill,

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10

15

20

But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has blown. Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast of stone.

Toll! Let the great bells toll
Till the clashing air is dim.
Did we wrong this parted soul?
We will make it up to him.
Toll! Let him never guess
What work we set him to.

Laurel, laurel, yes;

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He did what we bade him do.

30

Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good;

Never a word that the blood on his sword was his country's own heart's blood.

Let him never dream that his bullet's scream went wide of its

island mark,

Home to the heart of his darling land where she stumbled and sinned in the dark.

CAROLINE DUER

MISS DUER was born in New York city, where she now resides. She is the author, with her sister, of a volume of poems of unusual grace and vigor.

AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE

(MARCH 15, 1889)

We were ordered to Samoa from the coast of Panama,
And for two long months we sailed the unequal sea,
Till we made the horseshoe harbor with its curving coral bar,
Smelt the good green smell of grass and shrub and tree. 16

We had barely room for swinging with the tide

There were many of us crowded in the bay:

Three Germans, and the English ship, beside

Our three- and from the Trenton where she lay,

20

Through the sunset calms and after,

We could hear the shrill, sweet laughter

Of the children's voices on the shore at play.

We all knew a storm was coming, but, dear God! no man could dream

Of the furious hell-horrors of that day:

5

Through the roar of winds and waters we could hear wild voices

scream

See the rocking masts reel by us through the spray.

In the gale we drove and drifted helplessly,

With our rudder gone, our engine fires drowned,

And none might hope another hour to see;

For all the air was desperate with the sound

Of the brave ships rent asunder

Of the shrieking souls sucked under,

'Neath the waves, where many a good man's grave was found.

About noon, upon our quarter, from the deeper gloom afar, 15 Came the English man-of-war Calliope.

"We have lost our anchors, comrades, and, though small the

chances are,

We must steer for safety and the open sea."

Then we climbed aloft to cheer her as she passed

Through the tempest and the blackness and the foam : "Now, God speed you, though the shout should be our last, Through the channel where the maddened breakers comb, Through the wild sea's hill and hollow,

On the path we cannot follow,

To your women and your children and your home."

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Oh! remember it, good brothers. We two people speak one tongue,

And your native land was mother to our land;

LONG'S AM. POEMS-21

But the head, perhaps, is hasty when the nation's heart is young,

And we prate of things we do not understand.

But the day when we stood face to face with death,
(Upon whose face few men may look and tell),
As long as you could hear, or we had breath,
Four hundred voices cheered you out of hell!
By the will of that stern chorus,

By the motherland which bore us,

Judge if we do not love each other well.

GUY WETMORE CARRYL

1873-1904

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THIS writer, a man of many gifts, was born in New York city, and was educated at Columbia. He chose literature as a profession, and wrote much for the periodicals. After various editorial labors, he became the representative at Paris of a large New York publishing house.

WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN

To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea,

ΙΟ

On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles

are free,

And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill,

Breaker and beach cry each to each, ""Tis the Mother who calls! Be still!"

Mother new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm, Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign

arm,

15

Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her

navies roam,

Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this

time home!

And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest, The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the

golden west

Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,

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And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade,
And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is "Peace! Thank
God for peace."

Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show

The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise

and go,

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How, when the stirring summons smote on her children's ear, South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered, "Here!"

For the soul of the soldier's story and the heart of the sailor's

song

Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with

wrong,

Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod,

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Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their country's God!

Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,

To carry the hearts of the people to the uttermost ends of sea, To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait, To run your ship to the harbor's lip and sink her across the strait :

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But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for

home,

And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething

foam,