And come on and battle and make it worth while.

Yes! on to the thunder, tho' it's a blunder,
On to the swish and the whine and the roar;
With the memoried face of one you called 'treasure,'
Above and around and ever before.

Oh! thou in that homeland so wistfully waiting,
Watching and wearing your worries or woe,
So proudly triumphant, consider such women;
Work for them, pray for them, smile as you go.

For into the furnace they've thrown all their 'treasures,'
Knowing that out of the vibrating whole,
Quiveringly molten, pulsating, gleaming,
Europe shall find her immaculate soul--

Soul of the suff'ring, bleeding and dying,
Soul of a freedom unselfish and clean,
Loving the light of a love all around us,
Scorning the actions of men who are mean.

Oh! men who were kingly, mated to martyrs
(Silently, cheerfully, plodding along),
Send all ye can of such great souls to help us,
Make us and keep us triumphant and strong.

G.P. CUTTRISS and J.W. HOOD.