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War Stories

Marshal Foch
A Great German philosopher said many years ago that history...

The Hun Target The Red Cross
All the civilized nations of the world have agreed to respe...

A Place In The Sun
The history of Rome about 1500 years ago tells us of "the w...

Nations And The Moral Law
I believe there is no permanent greatness to a nation excep...

Alan Seeger
As England and the world lost Rupert Brooke, so America and...

Cardinal Mercier
He is an old man, nearly seventy, with thin, grayish-white ...

The Case Of Serbia
But Belgium is not the only little nation that has been att...

A Ballad Of French Rivers
Of streams that men take honor in The Frenchman ...

Marshal Joffre
The greatest leaders in history are often men who for the l...

The Charge Of The Black Watch And The Scots Greys
Sometimes a retreat is in reality a great victory. It has b...

What One American Did
If a person had been standing one night beside the railroad...

The Beast In Man
A German leader once said, "The oldest right in the world i...

Verdun
She is a wall of brass; You shall not pass! You sh...

Edith Cavell
Americans are particularly interested in the story of Edith...

The Torch Of Valor
The torch of valor has been passed from one brave hand to a...

Rupert Brooke
Among the losses that the World War has caused--many of the...

The Queen's Flower
On July 25, 1918, nearly every person in Washington, the ca...

A Belgian Lawyer's Appeal
One of the great lawyers of Belgium in behalf of the member...

The God In Man
A soldier on the firing step, aiming at the enemy, is sudde...

Daring The Undarable
We are thirty in the hands of Fate And thirty-one wi...



And The Cock Crew






"I hate them all!" said old Gaspard,
And in his weather-beaten face
The lines of bitterness grew hard,
For he had seen his dwelling-place
Laid waste in very wantonness,
And all his little treasures flung
Into that never-sated press
From which no wine, but gall, had sprung--
And not his heart alone was sore,
For in his frail old limbs he bore
Wounds of the heavy, ruthless hand
That weighed so cruelly of late
Upon the people and the land.
It was not hard to understand
Why old Gaspard should hate
Even the German lad who lay
His neighbor in the hospital,
The boy who pleaded night and day:
"Don't let me die! don't let me die!
When I see the dawn, I know
I shall live out that day, and then
I'm not afraid--till dark--but oh,
How soon the night comes round again!
Don't let me die! don't let me die!"

The old man muttered at each low,
Pitiful, half delirious cry,
"They should die, had I the say,
In hell's own torment, one and all!"
And then would drag himself away,
Despite each motion's agony,
To where the wounded poilus lay,
And cheer them with his mimicry
Of barnyard noises, and his gay
Old songs of what life used to be.
One night the lad suddenly cried,
"Mother!" And though the sister knew--
He was so young, so terrified,
"You're safe--the east is light," she lied.
But "No!" he sobbed, "the cock must crow
Before the dawn!" They did not hear
A cripple crawl across the floor,
But all at once, outside the door,
In the courtyard, shrill and clear,
Once, twice and thrice, chanticleer crew.
The blue eyes closed and the boy sighed,
"I'm not afraid, now day's begun.
I'll live--till--" With a smile, he died.

And in that hour when he denied
The god of hate, I think that One
Passed through the hospital's dim yard
And turning, looked on old Gaspard.

AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] COPYRIGHT BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY





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