More Songs by the Fighting Men
Invoke respect, tongue-tied however just.
O Heart! turn lyre within me! You are stirred
At her great contemplation, then you must
Shake into song, though be it as a bird
Whose artless iteration of his theme
Makes music without skill, by virtue of
The cherished sweetness of the Spring, his dream
Through bitter Winter. Sing but of her love,
Of her exceeding love, O Heart, then you
May render somewhat of the debt her due.
So great your love is, Mother, it may be
Nor held by words nor compassed by my rime;
It has o'erwhelmed the wide, disparting sea,
It has assaulted battlemented Time
To keep your guardian spirit round me when
Danger affronted or but lay in lurk—
Danger of death in this mad war of men,
Danger of sin in Life's worse war of work
And play, shadow and light, quick tears, brief joys:
You knew Life's sweetness when you gave me birth
And shared my infant bliss in stingless toys,
Alas! that since then joy has been in dearth
And grief has loosed so many of those tears
Which grew your Faith and Love beyond the years.
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