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Read Ebook: A Brief Account of the Educational Publishing Business in the United States by Pulsifer William Edmond
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Ebook has 72 lines and 5861 words, and 2 pages
LANGEMARCK
A glory lights the skies of Flanders Where the blood-stained fields lie bare, Where the clouds of war have gathered, Built their parapets in the air; Halted stands the Teuton army, Checked its onslaught at a sign; Forward roll the warlike forces, Sons of Canada in line.
Let them taste of Northern courage Where the lordly maple grows; Let them face the heroes nurtured Where the stars have wed the snows; We are sons of sires undaunted, Children of the hills and plains; Ours a courage born of duty, Pluck and dash of many strains.
Tell it to our children's children How Canadians saved the day; Write it with the pen of history, Sing it as a fireside lay; How at Langemarck in Flanders, Though the odds were eight to one, Our Canadians stood unbroken, Sword to sword, and gun to gun.
THE BUGLE CALL
Do you hear the call of our Mother, From over the sea, from over the sea? The call to her children, in every land; To her sons on Afric's far-stretch'd veldt; To her dark-skinned children on India's shore, Whose souls are nourish'd on Aryan lore; To her sons of the Northland where frosty stars Glitter and shine like a helmet of Mars; Do you hear the call of our Mother?
Do you hear the call of our Mother From over the sea, from over the sea? The call to Australia's legions strong, That move with the might and stealth of a wave; To the men of the camp and men of the field, Whose courage has taught them never to yield; To the men whose counsel has saved the State, And thwarted the plans of impending fate; Do you hear the call of our Mother?
Do you hear the call of our Mother From over the sea, from over the sea? To the little cot on the wind-swept hill; To the lordly mansion in the city street; To her sons who toil in the forest deep Or bind the sheaves where the reapers reap; To her children scattered far East and West; To her sons who joy in her Freedom Blest; Do you hear the call of our Mother?
HIS MISSION
ACHILLES' TOMB
Achilles awoke in his ancient tomb Hard by the coast of Troy; He rattled his armor now full of dust And rubbed his eyes like a boy, As he gazed on the ships of the allied fleet, Ploughing the seas from afar, Bent on their course to the Dardanelles 'Neath the light of Victory's star.
"Why, I've been asleep," Achilles said, "On the windy plains of Troy; Three thousand years have turned to dust With their maddening mirth and joy; Yet it seems but a day since Ilium fell, Since Sinon spun out his tale, And the Greeks returned from Tenedos With a light and prosperous gale.
"Three thousand years is a long, long time, But I'll doze for a thousand more; For I'm sick of the bluff of the Teuton hosts And the gas from each army corps. So lay me down in my ancient tomb, Where the Phrygian winds sweep by, And I'll dream of the days when heroes fought, 'Round the lofty walls of Troy."
THE CHRISM OF KINGS
In the morn of the world, at the daybreak of time, When Kingdoms were few and Empires unknown, God searched for a Ruler to sceptre the land, And gather the harvest from the seed He had sown. He found a young Shepherd boy watching his flock Where the mountains looked down on deep meadows of green; He hailed the young Shepherd boy king of the land And anointed his brow with a Chrism unseen.
He placed in his frail hands the sceptre of power, And taught his young heart all the wisdom of love; He gave him the vision of prophet and priest, And dowered him with counsel and light from above. But alas! came a day when the Shepherd forgot And heaped on his realm all the woes that war brings, And bartering his purple for the greed of his heart He lost both the sceptre and Chrism of Kings.
TIPPERARY
GATHER THE HARVEST
Gather the harvest though reaped in death, Under the pale, pale moon; For the lilies that joyed in the breath of morn Shall know not the ardor of noon: So, the souls that grow strong, in patriot love, Shall be garnered on Death's dark field, Ere the noontide rays have touched the vale And burnished with gold life's shield.
Gather the harvest though reaped in death, Where the sword has struck for Right, And cleft a way for Freedom's path, Through the dark and tremulous night: For the golden grain on the altar flames And lights each pilgrim throng, As they meet in joy 'round that altar bright Where Justice shall right each wrong.
THE KAISER'S "PLACE IN THE SUN"
What boots it, Wilhelm, that your guns are big, And your Zeppelins soar by night, Since against you are leagued the earth and stars And you're sure to lose in the fight. You have drenched the world with heroic blood, And stained the record of Man, But you'll presently get your "place in the Sun," Yes, the hottest since time began,
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