EUROPEAN WAR--POEMS


_Gifts of the Dead_

Ye who in Sorrow's tents abide,
Mourning your dead with hidden tears,
Bethink ye what a wealth of pride
They've won you for the coming years.

Grievous the pain; but, in the day
When all the cost is counted o'er,
Would it be best that ye should say:
"We lost no loved ones in the war?"

Who knows? But proud then shall ye stand
That best, most honored boast to make:
"My lover died for his dear land,"
Or, "My son fell for England's sake."

Christlike they died that we might live;
And our redeemed lives would we bring,
With aught that gratitude may give
To serve you in your sorrowing.

And never a pathway shall ye tread,