JEANNE D'ARC—1914.
By ALMA DURANT NICOLSON.
Rise from the buried ages, O thou Maid,
Rise from thy glorious ashes, unafraid,
And wheresoe'er thy Brothers need thee most,
Arise again, to lead thy tireless host.
France calls thee as she called in days gone by!
She calls thy spirit where her soldiers die;
She knows thy courage and thy sacrifice,
And wills today to pay the selfsame price,
All-confident that when the work is done,
She shall behold her Honor saved and Victory won.
God calls thee, Maid, from out the Past—
The Past of France where thy strange lot was cast—
And bid'st thee fling about this fearful hour
Thy dauntless Faith, that was thy magic Power.
And Freedom calls, with all-impelling voice,
She calls the Sons of France, and leaves no choice,
No waver and no alternating will;
Where Freedom calls, all other calls are still,
All-confident that when her work is done
Ye shall behold your Country saved and Victory won.
Rise from the buried ages, O thou Maid,
Rise from thy glorious ashes, unafraid,
And wheresoe'er thy Brothers need thee most,
Arise again, to lead thy tireless host.
France calls thee as she called in days gone by!
She calls thy spirit where her soldiers die;
She knows thy courage and thy sacrifice,
And wills today to pay the selfsame price,
All-confident that when the work is done,
She shall behold her Honor saved and Victory won.
God calls thee, Maid, from out the Past—
The Past of France where thy strange lot was cast—
And bid'st thee fling about this fearful hour
Thy dauntless Faith, that was thy magic Power.
And Freedom calls, with all-impelling voice,
She calls the Sons of France, and leaves no choice,
No waver and no alternating will;
Where Freedom calls, all other calls are still,
All-confident that when her work is done
Ye shall behold your Country saved and Victory won.
Rise from the buried ages, O thou Maid,
Rise from thy glorious ashes, unafraid,
And wheresoe'er thy Brothers need thee most,
Arise again, to lead thy tireless host.
France calls thee as she called in days gone by!
She calls thy spirit where her soldiers die;
She knows thy courage and thy sacrifice,
And wills today to pay the selfsame price,
All-confident that when the work is done,
She shall behold her Honor saved and Victory won.
God calls thee, Maid, from out the Past—
The Past of France where thy strange lot was cast—
And bid'st thee fling about this fearful hour
Thy dauntless Faith, that was thy magic Power.
And Freedom calls, with all-impelling voice,
She calls the Sons of France, and leaves no choice,
No waver and no alternating will;
Where Freedom calls, all other calls are still,
All-confident that when her work is done
Ye shall behold your Country saved and Victory won.
Rise from the buried ages, O thou Maid,
Rise from thy glorious ashes, unafraid,
And wheresoe'er thy Brothers need thee most,
Arise again, to lead thy tireless host.
France calls thee as she called in days gone by!
She calls thy spirit where her soldiers die;
She knows thy courage and thy sacrifice,
And wills today to pay the selfsame price,
All-confident that when the work is done,
She shall behold her Honor saved and Victory won.
God calls thee, Maid, from out the Past—
The Past of France where thy strange lot was cast—
And bid'st thee fling about this fearful hour
Thy dauntless Faith, that was thy magic Power.
And Freedom calls, with all-impelling voice,
She calls the Sons of France, and leaves no choice,
No waver and no alternating will;
Where Freedom calls, all other calls are still,
All-confident that when her work is done
Ye shall behold your Country saved and Victory won.
Rise from the buried ages, O thou Maid,
Rise from thy glorious ashes, unafraid,
And wheresoe'er thy Brothers need thee most,
Arise again, to lead thy tireless host.
France calls thee as she called in days gone by!
She calls thy spirit where her soldiers die;
She knows thy courage and thy sacrifice,
And wills today to pay the selfsame price,
All-confident that when the work is done,
She shall behold her Honor saved and Victory won.
God calls thee, Maid, from out the Past—
The Past of France where thy strange lot was cast—
And bid'st thee fling about this fearful hour
Thy dauntless Faith, that was thy magic Power.
And Freedom calls, with all-impelling voice,
She calls the Sons of France, and leaves no choice,
No waver and no alternating will;
Where Freedom calls, all other calls are still,
All-confident that when her work is done
Ye shall behold your Country saved and Victory won.