Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/69

John W. Garvin

EE them arching grimly as you feel Those fingers long and slim and cold and real That grip the world about with hoops of steel!

War's mortgage on the nations, and its toll Of boldly gallant lives that must enroll,— A deathly gripping thing upon the soul.

Religious dogma, still a burning hoop: Hersey falcons downward fiercely swoop on every chick that chirps beyond the coop.

A durance deadlier that rubs the raw And stifles Justice in the courts of law, Is hoary Precedent with ape-like jaw.

And Vice incarnate keeps his luring den, Draining the tainted blood of erring men,— A smiling Vampire baffling sword and pen.

The little finger is a lighter load: "Tis etiquette and fashion's changing code,— A ribboned whip,-sometimes a pricking goad.

O Grip of the Dead Hand! In your palm lie Strong sons of men, aflame to reach the sky On Wings of Life, unclipped before they fly.

EVER again shall the Sword swift steel
 * Redden the soil of the world!

Never again shall the Dreadnought's keel
 * Trouble the waves foam-hurled!

For down in the deep of the hearts of men
 * And up on the spirit's height,

The dense, dark clouds are lifting agen
 * And there is light!