Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/74

 BELGIUM

TO THE BELGIANS

RACE that Cæsar knew,

That won stern Roman praise,

What land not envies you

The laurel of these days?

You built your cities rich

Around each towered hall,—

Without, the statued niche

Within, the pictured wall.

Your ship-thronged wharves, your marts

With gorgeous Venice vied.

Peace and her famous arts

Were yours: though tide on tide

Of Europe's battle scourged

Black field and reddened soil,

From blood and smoke emerged

Peace and her fruitful toil.

Yet when the challenge rang,

"The War-Lord comes; give room!"

Fearless to arms you sprang

Against the odds of doom.

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