Poems of the Great War / Published on the Behalf of the Prince of Wales's National Relief Fund

Give gladly, you rich—'tis no more than you owe— For the weal of your Country, your wealth's overflow! Even I that am poor am performing my part; I am giving my brain, I am giving my heart.
WILLIAM WATSON
PUBLISHED ON BEHALF OF THE PRINCE OF WALES'S NATIONAL RELIEF FUND FOURTH EDITION LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1914

This collection of War Poems, the net profits from which will be given to the Prince of Wales's Fund, represents the free offering of English poets to the cause of National Relief.
Most of the poems have appeared recently in the Press. Mr. Robert Bridges' opening contribution, Mr. Henry Newbolt's, Mr. Maurice Hewlett's, Mr. R. E. Vernède's, Mr. Binyon's, were all printed in the Times during the few days immediately following the declaration of war, as also was the sonnet by Mr. William Watson. Sir Owen Seaman's poem came out originally in Punch , The Hour in the Daily Telegraph , The United Front in the Daily Mail . We Willed it Not is reprinted from the Sphere , Duty and Commandeered from the Westminster Gazette , and the poems by Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Cecil Chesterton from the New Witness . The New Weekly published the verses by Mr. John Freeman, and the Daily Chronicle those by Mr. Harold Begbie. The two hymns which close the collection are reprinted, by special permission of their authors, from volumes previously published.
The publishers desire also to record their thanks to Mr. William Nicholson for the design which appears on the cover.



Thou careless, awake! Thou peacemaker, fight! Stand, England, for honour, And God guard the Right! Thy mirth lay aside, Thy cavil and play: The foe is upon thee, And grave is the day. The monarch Ambition Hath harnessed his slaves; But the folk of the Ocean Are free as the waves. For Peace thou art armed Thy Freedom to hold: Thy Courage as iron, Thy Good-faith as gold. Through Fire, Air, and Water Thy trial must be: But they that love life best Die gladly for thee. The Love of their mothers Is strong to command; The fame of their fathers Is might to their hand. Much suffering shall cleanse thee; But thou through the flood Shalt win to Salvation, To Beauty through blood.