Page:The Book of the Homeless (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1916).djvu/54

 is our gift to the Homeless. What shall it bear from me Safe in a land that prospers Girded by leagues of sea?— Tear moistened words of pity, Bountiful sympathy.

Clearly we see the picture, Horror has fixed our eyes. Fighting to guard its hearthstones A nation mangled lies. Fire has charred its beauty. Murder has stilled its cries;

And truths we love and cherish Hang in the trembling scale. If you win, we win by proxy. If you fail, we are doomed to fail. The world is beset by a monster. Yet we watch to see who shall prevail.

Our souls are racked and quickened. But prudence counsels no. So we lavish our gold and pity And wait to see how it will go,— This pivotal war of the ages With its heartrending ebb and flow.