Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/185

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And strive

With him, that we may save our fortitude alive.

Theirs be the hard, but ours the lonely bed.

Nought were we spared—of us, this word shall not be said.

Never of us be said

We failed to give God-speed to our adventurous dead.

Not in self-pitying mood

We saw them go,

When they set forth on those spread wings of pain:

So glad, so young,

As birds whose fairest lays are yet unsung

Dart to the height

And thence pour down their passion of delight,

Their passing into melody was turned.

So were our hearts uplifted from the low,

Our griefs to rapture burned;

And, mounting with the music of that throng,

Cutting a path athwart infinity,

Our puzzled eyes

Achieved the healing skies

To find again

Each wingèd spirit as a speck of song

Embosomed in Thy deep eternity.

Though from our homely fields that feathered joy has fled

We murmur not. Of us, this word shall not be said. Evelyn Underhill

TAKE away the mistletoe

And bring the holly berry,

For all the lads are gone away

And all the girls look sad to-day,

There's no one left with them to play,

And only birds and babes and things unknowing

Dare be merry.

Then take away the mistletoe

And bring the holly berry.