No foot of seashore, hill, or lea,
But ye may think: "The dead, my dead,
Gave this, a sacred gift, to me."

--_Habberton Lulhaut_.


The war is like the Judgment Day--
All sham, all pretext torn away;
And swift the searching hours reveal
Hearts good as gold, souls true as steel.
Blest saints and martyrs in disguise,
Concealed ere-while from holden eyes.

And now we feel that all around
Have angels walked the well-known ground;
Not winged and strange beyond our ken,
But in the form of common men.
God's messengers from Heaven's own sphere--
Unrecognized because so near.

--_Ella Fuller Maitland_.


_For Thee They Died_

For thee their pilgrim swords were tried,
Thy flaming word was in their scrips,
They battled, they endured, they died
To make a new Apocalypse.