that feeds upon itself--
'_And God saw it was good..._'

Yet who are we to rail--
Vainly we strive and storm--
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform!

'Blind unbelief is sure to err,'
They say, and yet again,
'God is His own interpreter'--
_When will He make it plain?_

SOLDIERS

Gay flags flying down the street;
Comes the drum's insistent beat
Like a fierce, gigantic pulse,
And the screaming fife exults.

Soldier, soldier, spic and span,
Aren't you the lucky man;
Splendid in your gold and blue--
How the small boy envies you!

Oh, there's glory for you here--
Girls to smile and men to cheer;
Bands behind and bands before
Thrilling with the lust of War.

Soldier, soldier, proud as though
Marching to a sanguine foe,
Bravely would you face the brink
Fired with music, and with drink...

Stalwart warrior pass, and be
Glad you are not such as we--
We, who, without flags or drums,
March to battle in the slums.

Regiments of workers--we
Are a foolish soldiery,
Combating, till we convert,
Ignorance, disease and dirt...

Soldier, soldier, look--and then
Laugh at us poor fighting-men,
Struggling on, though every street
Is the scene of our defeat.

Laugh at us, who, day by day
Come back beaten from the fray;
We, who find our work undone--
We, whose wars are never won.

_Gay flags flying down the street;
Comes the drum's insistent beat
Like a fierce, gigantic pulse--
And the screaming fife exults!_

PEACE

(_The Fisheries dispute having been amicably compromised, the world is
at peace again._ .... News Despatch.)

'_At peace_'? The world has never been at peace--
Its wars are never-ending; there is naught
In all its battles like these overwrought
And storming hours with their dark increase.
The cities roar; in every street one sees
Women and children, battle-wounded, caught.--
No slaves, no shattered hosts have ever fought
So bitterly, so hopeless of release...

Well, if it must be war, take up the sword,
Facing the world with grim and savage glee;
And, with the courage of a Faith restored,
Strike till the darkness falters, and we see
That liberty is no mere gaudy word,
And peace no slothful, placid mockery.

THE DYING DECADENT

_And when the evening cam