Somewhere is music from the linnets’ bills, And through the sunny flowers the bee wings drone, And white bells of convolvulus on hills Of quiet May make silent ringing blown Hither and thither by the wind of showers, And somewhere all the wandering birds have flown; And the brown breath of Autumn chills the flowers. But where are all the loves of long ago?
O little twilight ship blown up the tide, Where are the faces laughing in the glow Of morning years, the lost ones scattered wide? Give me your hand, O brother; let us go Crying about the dark for those who died.
Ribbons of white in the flag of our land, Say, shall we live in fear? Speak! For I wait for the word from your lips Wet with the brine of the sea-going ships; Speak! Shall we cringe ’neath an Attila’s whips? Speak! For I wait to hear!
“This is our word,” said the ribbons of white; “This is the course to steer-- Peace is our haven for foul or for fair-- Won as a maiden and kept as an heir, Peace with the sunlight of God on her hair, Peace, with an honor clear!”
Ribbons of red in the flag of our land, Bought for a price full dear, Speak! For ’tis Man that is asking Man, Churl in the centuries’ caravan, Speak! For he waits for your bold “I can!” Speak! For he waits to hear!
“This is our word,” said the ribbons of red, Slowly, with gaze austere, “War if we must in humanity’s name, Shielding a sister from sorrow and shame; War upon beasts with the sword and with flame! War--till the Judge appear!”
Stars in a field of the sky’s own blue, Light of a midnight year, Speak! For the spirit of Man awakes, Shoulders the cross, and his couch forsakes, Whispers a prayer, and the long way takes, Speak! For he waits to hear!
“This is our word,” said a star of white, Set in the silken mere, “Right against Might on the land, on the sea! Little and Great are the same to me! Only for Truth and for Liberty Strike! For the hour is here!”
From “Rhymes of a Red Cross Man,” a book of fine poems by Mr. Service. Published and copyright, 1916, by Barse & Hopkins, New York. Special permission to insert in this book.
Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of War! Over the gorse and the golden dells, Ringing and swinging of clamorous bells, Praying and saying of wild farewells: War! War! War!