EDITH CAVELL
(1916)
Dear martyred maid, thy cruel death hath thrilled
With loathing deep the whole of human kind
Against the Hun who thy death sentence signed;
Thy barb’rous death all manly hearts hath filled
With feelings such as never can be stilled;
In every home thy name is hence enshrined,
Thy death scene pictured clear in every mind
In thy life’s blood, the murd’rous Hun hath spilled
Angelic maid, could we but lift the veil
Which hides from mortal eyes God’s holy land
With Joan of Arc and Florence Nightingale,
Thy wounded temple with a filet bound,
With harp in hand, thy head with glory crowned,
Amidst the heavenly choir we’d see thee stand.
TO CARDINAL MERCIER
(1916)
Illustrious shepherd of the Prince of Peace,
With priestly zeal you watched thy Belgian fold,
Any aye performed its duties manifold,
That love and virtue did therein increase,
And want and sorrow all the while surcease,
While Christian culture her rich page enrolled
Heroic men and women chaste to mould;
The cross, thy sceptre, and the crook, thy creese:
But when the robber Hun assailed thy flock,
Then stood you forth, the patriot and priest,
With clarion call to champion the right,
And met the onset of the Prussian beast
And all the hosts of his embattled might,
Firm and immovable, as Zion’s Rock.
THE BARD OF AYR
(1915)
Oh come sweet muse, with well tuned lyre,
On this our Robbie’s natal day,
A rustic poet’s mind inspire
That he may sing a homely lay.
Of all the warblers ever born,
I dearly love the bard of Ayr,
Whose lovely songs both night and morn,
Have freed my wearied mind from care.