Ballads of Peace in War [1]
OFF TO THE WAR
(For Jack)
In a little ship and down the bay,
Out to the calling sea,
A young brave lad sailed off today,
To the one great war went he:
The one long war all men must know
Greater than land or gold,
Soul is the prince and flesh the foe
Of a kingdom Christ will hold.
With arms of faith and hope well-wrought
The brave lad went away,
And the voice of Christ fills all his thought,
Under two hands that pray:
The tender love of a mother's hands
That guarded all his years,
Fitted the armor, plate and bands,
And blessed them with her tears.
Older than Rhodes and Ascalon
And the farthest forts of sea,
Is the Master voice that calls him on
From the hills in Galilee:
From hills where Christ in gentle guise
Called, as He calls again,
With His heart of love and His love-lit eyes
Unto His warrior men.
Christ with the brave young lad to-day
Who goes to the sweet command,
Strengthen his heart wherever the way,
Whether he march or stand:
And whether he die in a peaceful cell,
Or alone in the lonely night,
The Cross of Christ shall keep him well,
And be his death's delight.
5
THE TOWERS OF HOLY CROSS
(For W. M. Letts)
The roads look up to Holy Cross,
The sturdy towers look down,
And show a kindly word to all
Who pass by Worcester Town;
And once you'd see the boys at play,
Or marching cap and gown.
The gallant towers at Holy Cross
Are silent night and day,
A few young lads are left behind
Who still may take their play;
The Cross and Flag look out afar
For them that went away.
And mine are gone, says Beaven Hall,
To camps by hill and plain,
And mine along by Newport Sea,
Says the high tower of O'Kane;
I follow mine, Alumni calls,
Across the watery main.
Their sires were in the old Brigade
That won at Fontenoy,
Stood true at Washington's right hand,
that were his faith and joy:
From Holy Cross to Fredericksburg
Is many a gallant boy.
Then God be with you, says the Cross,
And the brave towers looking down;
I'll be your cloth, sings out the Flag,
For other cap and gown,
And may we see you safe again,
On the hills of Worcester Town.
6
ALWAYS MAYTIME
(for Gerry)
When May has spent its little song,
And richer comes the June,
Through former eyes the heart will long
For May again in tune;
Though large with promise hope may be,
By future visions cast,
Our memoried thoughts will yearn to see
The happy little past.
And you, my loyal little friend,
(From May to June you go),
What years of loyalty attend
Great comradeship we know;
Yet joy have me in place of tears
To see your road depart,
For whether east or west your years,
A friend stays home at heart.
Then gladly let the Springtime pass
And Summer in its wake;
Ahead are fields of flower and grass
All fragrant for your sake:
With hearts of joy we say farewell,
With laughter, wave and nod,
It's always May for us who dwell
In seasons close to God.
7
THE STORYTELLER
Tim of the Tales they call me,
With a welcome heart and hand;
But little they hold my brother
For all his cattle and land.
If I be walking the high road
From Clare that goes to the sea,
A troop of the young run leaping
To gather a story from me.
Tim of the Tales, the folk say,
Is known the world around,
For children by taking his stories
To their homes in foreign ground.
I pity my brother his fortunes,
And how he sits alone,
With the money that keeps his body,
But leaves his heart a stone.
And sometimes do I be feeling
A dream of death in my ear,
And a heaven of children calling,
"Tim of the Tales is here."
8
MY FATHER'S TUNES
My father had the gay good tunes, the like you'd seldom hear,
A whole day could he whistle them, an' thin he'd up an' sing,
The merry tunes an' twists o'them that suited all the year,
An' you wouldn't ask but listen if yourself stood there a king.
Early of a mornin'