Ah, but this joy which our minds cannot measure,
    What did it cost for our fathers to gain! 
  Bought at the price of the heart’s dearest treasure,
    Born out of travail and sorrow and pain;
  Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying,
    Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell;
  Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying,
    Torn by the fury of bullet and shell. 
  Ah, but the day is past:  silent the rattle,
    And the confusion that followed the fight. 
  Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,
    Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!

  Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,
    Out of the dust and the dimness of death,
  Burst into blossoms of glory eternal
    Flowers that sweeten the world with their breath. 
  Flowers of charity, peace, and devotion
    Bloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;
  Love that is boundless and broad as the ocean
    Leaps into beauty and fulness of life. 
  So, with the singing of paeans and chorals,
    And with the flag flashing high in the sun,
  Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels
    Which their unfaltering valor has won!

PREMONITION

      Dear heart, good-night! 
  Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing
    When the world is all so bright,
  And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,
    Oh, love, it is not right—­
    Not then to say, “Good-night.”

      Dear heart, good-night! 
  The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,
    And the spray flies cold and white. 
  And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver—­
    “Ah, yes, the world is bright,
      But, dearest heart, good-night!”

      Dear heart, good-night! 
  And do not longer seek to hold me! 
    For my soul is in affright
  As the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me. 
    See him who sang how white
      And still; so, dear, good-night.

      Dear heart, good-night! 
  Thy hand I ’ll press no more forever,
    And mine eyes shall lose the light;
  For the great white wraith by the winding river
    Shall check my steps with might. 
      So, dear, good-night, good-night!

RETROSPECTION

  When you and I were young, the days
    Were filled with scent of pink and rose,
    And full of joy from dawn till close,
  From morning’s mist till evening’s haze. 
    And when the robin sung his song
    The verdant woodland ways along,
      We whistled louder than he sung. 
  And school was joy, and work was sport
  For which the hours were all too short,
    When you and I were young, my boy,
      When you and I were young.