[The Belgian Mother]
[The Burial of King Edward, The Peacemaker]
[The Coronation of King George V]
[The Greater Canada]
[The Battle Call]
[Give! Give! Give!]
[The Battle of Langemarck]
["Somewhere in France"]
[Lines to Greece]
[Ireland]
[Kismet]
[The Crimson Year, Christmas, 1916]
[Grit and Tory]
["De Fightin' Fisherman"]
[Monsieur Poilu]
["The Bells of Belgium"]
[Lad of My Heart]
[When Drinking to Erin]
[Duty]
["A Wartime Greeting"]
[The Aviators]
[Hell's Acolyte]
[Copper Johnny]
[The Quest Eternal]
[The Building of the Chateau]
[The Spirit of Christmas]
[The Chosen People]
[The Waif]
[A Toast]
[Ballad of the Budget, Year 1909]
["The Pipe"]
[The Miracle of May]
[In Summer]
[Love's Miracle]
[The Squaw-Man]
[Heart's Desire]
[The Awakening]
[Eyes of the Heart]
[Cupid's Arrow]
[My April Maiden]
[The Call of the Open]
[The Loving Cup]
THE BELGIAN MOTHER
THE BELGIAN MOTHER
Hear me, O God, who reignest upon high,
From blood-bespattered fields hear thou my cry!
Hear Thou a Belgian mother's fierce appeal,
Whose torn bosom, 'neath the Prussian heel,
Crimson and breastless challenges Thy sky,
Of Christ the merciful demanding why.
Wherefore the murder of my valiant sons!
Wherefore the ravage of my little ones?
Hear me, O Father; Jesus, hear me pray,
Shall there be reckoning, shall Prussia pay?
Father, to whom I knelt these many years,
Thou wilt give answer to a mother's tears;
Give answer to the cry of her despair,
If heav'n be not o'erthrown, if Thou art there!
Helpless I stand amid the storm of hate,
My children slain, my fields made desolate.
I will not cease from urging till Thou give
Some sign, some token, that Thy justice live.
By daytime and by night-time I shall pray.
For these foul crimes on mine, shall Prussia pay!
For sack of cities, sacrilege of shrines,
For trampled tombs, a thousand nameless crimes,
That cry for vengeance unto Heaven's throne,
Shall he not pay, shall Prussia not atone?
The dying hands of children grip my heart;
From vale and upland, and the thronging mart,
There is no laughter where they used to play;
They cry unmothered, starved, with faces gray.
If this be not a hell 'neath devil's sway,
For all my little ones, shall Prussia pay!
O God of mine, Thy harvest moon still beams,
Nor hides in horror from such ghastly scenes,
And Thy great Sun I thought Thy hand might shade,
And dim the light that gave such carnage aid.
Red ravage rides across my piteous plain,
Behold Namur, behold beloved Louvain!
Temples of Wisdom, prostrate in the dust,
Trampled and scarred to glut a despot's lust.
Hast Thou no rod this crowned Ghoul to flay?
For ruin of Beauty, Lord, shall Prussia pay!
Out from the land that loved them, beggared flung,
Sons from the loins of olden heroes sprung;
They whom great Caesar chronicled in praise,
Shalt Thou leave outcast, doom to evil days?
Shall Belgium's sons, shall this beloved soil,
Whose very mould is martial, be made spoil?
Lord of the slain in olden battles, hear!
Till all I love, till all I hold most dear,
Till my young hero-king shall find his throne,
Till Belgians shall again sing songs of home,
I from amid the ruins, night and day,
Shall cry to Thee, "O God, make Prussia pay!"