soul

Of a people proud in the pride of youth,

But sweeter to know, as the seasons roll,

Our men, as of old, are
truth!

men in

But say not a word till the shot is heard that tells the fight is on,

Till the long, deep roar grows more and more from the ships of "Yank" and "Don,"

Till over the deep the tempests sweep of fire and bursting shell,

And the very air is a mad Despair in the throes of a living hell;

Then down, deep down, in the mighty ship, unseen by the midday suns, You'll find the chaps who are giving the raps the inen behind the guns!

WHERE HELEN COMES WHERE Helen comes, as falls the dew, Where Helen comes Peace cometh too! From out the golden, western lands, White lilies blooming in her hands, A light of beauty in her face, She passeth on with nameless grace. Before her fly the shades of lifeThe darkling, wheeling bats of strifeThey flee her very garments' stir, And greater fear the soul of her; For hath she not the magic touch The sesame of loving much? Where'er her morning footsteps pass The daisies sing unto the grass; Soft whispers full of praises sweet

Her evening presence rise to greet,
And if she go through deserts bare
The angels of the heart are there:
They find no spot to weave their spells
So fair as that where Helen dwells!
Where Helen comes, as falls the dew,
Where Helen comes Peace cometh too!

THE RÁHAT

UPON Nirwana's brink the ráhat stood;

Beneath him rolled the Ocean of the All: Responsive flowed the current of his blood To meet the tidal call —

Save one red drop within his mortal veins
Wherein the image of Zuleika shone;
He gazed a moment on Nirwana's gains—
And Earthward he was gone!

A BEAM OF LIGHT

A BEAM of light, from the infinite depths of the midnight sky,

Painted with infinite love a star in a convict's eye;

When, lo! the ghosts of his sins were afraid and fled with a curse,

And the soul of the man walked free in the fields of the universe!

At sight of swarthy Tzigane face,
That warns me: "Lo, thy kinsmen nigh."
All's dear that tastes of Hungary.

Once more, O let me hear once more
The passion and barbaric rage!
Let me forget my exile here
In this mild land, in this mild age;
Once more that unrestrained wild cry
That takes me to my Hungary !

They listen with approving smile,
But I, O God, I want my home!

I want the Tzigane tongue, the dance,.
The nights in tents, the days to roam.
O music, O fierce life and free,
God made my soul for Hungary!