Running stream! Running stream! Ruddy tench and silver perch: Shakespeare loved the water’s gleam Sparkling on by Welford church: Water fay meets woodland gnome Where the silver eddies foam Thro’ the richly scented loam: We are fain to see our home, See again thy silver gleam, Running stream! Running stream!
Silver throats! Silver throats! Piping blackbird, trilling thrush: Shakespeare heard your merry notes; Still you herald morning’s blush: You shall sing your anthems grand When we’ve finished what He planned. God will hear and understand. God will give us back our land Where the water-lily floats, Silver throats! Silver throats!
From “Oxford and Flanders.” B. H. Blackwell, Publishers, Oxford, England. Special permission to reproduce in this book.
This is the song of the Plane-- The creaking, shrieking plane, The throbbing, sobbing plane, And the moaning, groaning wires:-- The engine--missing again! One cylinder never fires! Hey ho! for the Plane!
This is the song of the Man-- The driving, striving man, The chosen, frozen man:-- The pilot, the man-at-the-wheel, Whose limit is all that he can, And beyond, if the need is real! Hey ho! for the Man!
This is the song of the Gun-- The muttering, stuttering gun, The maddening, gladdening gun:-- That chuckles with evil glee At the last, long drive of the Hun, With its end in eternity! Hey ho! for the Gun!
This is the song of the Air-- The lifting, drifting air, The eddying, steadying air, The wine of its limitless space:-- May it nerve us at last to dare Even death with undaunted face! Hey ho! for the Air!
IN THE CHICAGO EVENING POST, NOVEMBER 11, 1918
Out of the night it leaped the seas-- The four long years of night! “The foe is beaten to his knees, And triumph crowns the fight!” It sweeps the world from shore to shore, By wave and wind ’tis flung, It grows into a mighty roar Of siren, bell and tongue. Where little peoples knelt in fear, They stand in joy today; The hour of their redemption here, Their feet on Freedom’s way. The kings and kaisers flee their doom, Fall bloody crown and throne! Room for the people! Room! Make room! They march to claim their own! Now God be praised we lived to see His Sun of Justice rise, His Sun of Righteous Liberty, To gladden all our skies! And God be praised for those who died, Whate’er their clime or breed, Who, fighting bravely side by side, A world from thraldom freed! And God be praised for those who, spite Of woundings sore and deep, Survive to see the Cause of Right O’er all its barriers sweep! God and the people--This our cry! O, God, thy peace we sing! The peace that comes through victory, And dwells where Thou art King.