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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: The Fiery Cross: An Anthology of War Poems, an electronic edition
Author: Edwards, Mabel C. and Booth, Mary
Publisher: [Grant Richards Ltd.]
Place published: 
Date: [1915]
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THE FIERY CROSSAn Anthology of War PoemsFrom Germany"LUSITANIA," 7TH MAY 1915.REJOICE! Rejoice! the deed is done!The Innocents are dead.Hell's deepest teachings are outdone!Justice and Mercy fled.Rejoice! for in a thousand homesThe English mothers weepThe thousand sons our secret armHas plunged beneath the deep.Rejoice!--but what this bitter brand--Pale spectre of the slain--You press upon my shrinking brow?"It is the mark of Cain."Mary Booth.St George for EnglandST GEORGE! St George for England!Clear rings the ancient cry;St George! St George for England!Who dares to do and die?The fiery cross has called themFrom the lonely Highland glen,And Cambria's lovely vales resoundTo the tramp of marching men.From Erin's shimmering islandThey cry is still "They come!"And Tara's sacred halls resoundTo the music of the drum.They have left the dead unburied,And the marriage feast delayedTill Belgium's wrongs are all avenged,And the Huns' mad march is stayed.They come from sunny Devon,From Derby's vales and rocks;Left are the pen, the loom, the plough,Deserted are the flocks.And St George is fighting for them,While Heaven's vast Hosts, as oneShall watch by them, and fight for them,Till victory is won.Mary Booth.The Coming of the ColoniesI OF the bleeding heart, bent head, and stricken tongue,Old, old with years, and honours, and despairs,Watch them go forth to fight and die, last heirsAnd children of my womb, the happy young.I took the challenge, by the oppressors flung,I and my peers,--and far my beacon flares,"Up, up, ye lion cubs, from out your lairs!"Wide o'er the world my cry of need has rung.They came, my splendid daughters--to the fray--India and Australasia and the Isles,Swart Afric, and my swift cold Canada--With ardour, and with laughter and with smiles;And, though my every son of Britain fall,With these no man shall hold me as a thrall.Dorothy Frances Gurney.A Little Book of Quiet.The AdmonitionTo BETSEY.REMEMBER, on your knees,The men who guard your slumbers--And guard a house in a still streetOf drifting leaves and drifting feet,A deep blue window where belowLies moonlight on the roofs like snow,A clock that still his quarters tellsTo the dove that roosts beneath the bell'sGrave canopy of silent brass,Round which the little night-winds passYet stir it not in the grey steeple;And guard all small and drowsy peopleWhom gentlest dusk doth disattire,Undressing by the nursery fireIn unperturbed numbersOn this side of the seas--Remember, on your knees,The men who guard your slumbers.Helen Parry Eden.Westminster Gazette.The TirailleurTO THE MEMORY OF RENÉ.HE was so young to die--Ah; these are catchwords nowWhen Death sucks red lips whiteYet laurel-crowns the brow!The while we slaked his thirstAround us night-flies sang,Why did we wish him life?Why did we feel a pang?He lived the night, to dawn,And all the hot day throughThe fever lit his eyes,His limbs no resting knew."Je pars tout seul," he said.Yet radiance on his faceBespoke him radiant dreamsVeiled in eternal grace.The hour he died, a mothWith golden quivering wingsUpon his pillow poised,And whispered lovely thingsTo his dear fluttering soul--Of brothers at his side,And comrades crying "Haste,The boat is on the tide "--Till with the setting sunOutward his spirit leapt--In calm the moon arose,Only the Sister wept.Millicent Sutherland.>GiftsTo QUEEN ELISABETH OF THE BELGIANS.From the Mother of John the Baptist."WHEN all my fruitful years were done,God breathed on me His gracious breath;And I conceived and bore a son;I, even I, Elisabeth.GGCourage I give you, and the calmWith which I faced my childless years;I give you too a healing grace,The balm of hero-mourning tears."From St Elisabeth."I, who was mated to a brute;I give you charity and grace;A healing power from you shall flowTo all who look upon your face."From Elizabeth of England."The mighty Virgin-queen was I;Who reigned supreme on land and sea;I give you of the mettle highThat made my people great and free."From Elizabeth Barrett Browning."And I, whose fire-tipped tongue did tellMy message to a waiting world,I give you power to walk thro' Hell,And find your garment-hem unsoiled."Mary Booth.TerritorialsWHERE are the lads who went out to the war?This year, and last year and long, long ago--With eyes full of laughter and song on their lips(Our sad hearts flew after as birds follow ships!)Where are they now, do you know?Some sleep in Flanders and some sleep in France,This year, and last year, and long years to come--And under the rampart that guards far Stamboul Some are camped in a rest deep and cool,And they heed not the bugle and drum!They'll come, though not all! They will come from the warThis year or next year, or early or lateAnd come well or wounded, come many or few,They will bring back their honour, their faith high and true,Or will bear it to Paradise Gale.Agnes S. Falconer.Country Life.RequiescantNow are they come unto the place of quiet,Into the heart of silence, where God is,Far, far away from all the mortal riotSafe in the home of lovely sanctities.And there they rest, who fought with no surrender,Lapt round with peace like water cool and brightTill God shall armour them again in splendour,To battle with the spirits of the night!My soul, forestall awhile the ultimate fiat,A moment doff the body's hindrance,And come thou too unto the place of quiet,Into the heart of silence, where God is.Dorothy Frances Gurney.A Little Book of Quiet.Expiation"I, WAVERING like a candle in the wind:I on the margin of Eternity: Alone--alone--and knowing I have sinned:Pale Galilean, will you watch with me?""Lo! I am here, My son: if any sinI am the Advocate for such as he.The good to Heaven unmediated win:You not till death's dark hour have turned to me.Here on the battlefield are sins forgiven:Your wounds are sacred: they do expiate:Again-again--My side for you is riven.""On healing streams I float thro' Death's dark gate."Mary Booth."Despise not the Day of Small Things"Niuë, a little island in the South Seas, sent a message, on the outbreak of war, to offer to Great Britain "From a little child of the Empire," two portions--first, men; secondly, money.A LITTLE child of Empire, IMy little gifts give willingly;Two portions have I, men and gold,Would I could give a hundredfold!To Britain's mighty army thenDoes "Niuë" offer twenty menAnd money in a like degree,With dark hearts' love and loyalty.For surely he, our Great White King,Can look upon a little thing,And will the burning spirit seeIn us, dark children though we be.E. Mary Cruttwell.Men Who Die for EnglandMEN who die for EnglandNever die in vain.Dying conquerors, dying masters,Dying firm 'mid fierce disasters.England's every sonDying duty doneGives the life she lent him back again.Men who die for EnglandNever die in vain.Rushing seas they rode victorious,Conquering seas have made them glorious,Where in marshalled rankDown to death they sank.Met in order stern the roaring mainProud for pride of EnglandDied, and not in vain.Sons of Vikings, old the story,Desperate odds and death-fight gory.Over all your graves,Late or soon, there wavesProud the flag you held us high from stain,Floats the flag of EnglandFought for-not in vain.Beacon fires are ye whose ashesFade, yet forth their splendour flashes.Answers height on height, Bright and yet more bright,Answers all your England, hill and plain,Men who die for EnglandDo not die in vain.Prince and labourer, clerk and yeoman!One we rise to front the foeman.Who can dare forgetNow to pay his debt,Give what England gave to her again?Men who died for EnglandHave not died in vain.Margaret L. Woods.Lay your Head on the Earth's Breast"Have you heard the earth crying?" said Vassily Vassilitch."What do you mean?" I asked."Why," said he, "I've heard her crying as I lay in the grass with my ear to the ground. I heard her. Like this, oo-m, oo-m, oo-m. It was the time the soldiers were being mobilised and women were sobbing in every cottage and in every turning of the road, so it may only have been that I heard. But it seemed to me the earth herself was crying, so gently, so sadly that my own heart ached."--STEPHEN GRAHAM.LAY your head on the Earth's breast and you will hear her crying,Sobbing, softly, hopelessly, for her sons who are dead and dying.Splendid and gay they are marching still to the music of bugle and band,Bravest and best of my beautiful sons they are going from every land.Are there none who will stay of all my sons?  Must you all go?Yes; all that you love, the pride of your eyes, Mother, you'd have it so.Mangled and torn they lie in heaps, broken, dying and dead.O scarlet blood of my splendid sons, you have dyed my green fields red.What can I do for you, O my sons?  My last, last gift is small,A few poor sods to cover your heads and a scatter of snow o'er all.Lay your head on the Earth's breast and you will hear her crying,Grieving, softly, hopelessly, for her sons who are dead and dying.Celia Congreve.Country Life.