Freedom's shrine.  "Oh, ancient College, that so long hast bred Son after son to heed his Country's call. The answer to our questionings is read— In yonder Tower of your Memorial Hall." 

In marching line, on Soldiers' Field today,

This flower of youth—eager and brave and gay.

And we, down-heartened, prayed a silent prayer,

And many a sad-eyed mother watched them there.

Or shouldered arms while war-like music thrilled.

"Why should these boys in martial ways be skilled?"

Until we looked across the valiant line

That honors men who fell at Freedom's shrine.

Son after son to heed his Country's call.

In yonder Tower of your Memorial Hall."

[7]

[7]

SUMMER IN LONDON

SUMMER IN LONDON

 Oh, the noise of Piccadilly—its rumble and its roar! A tide of life's broad ocean surging toward the shore. Who once has listened, ever can hear its long refrain With haunting echo drowning or dirge or flaunting strain. Who heeds it, in his vision may see a world-throng pass— And over there the Green Park with laughing lad and lass; While weary men and women and careless youth go by, Where windows glow and glitter, and in the evening sky A crescent moon is watching the laughing lass and lad. The long, warm London twilight! Happy they are, though sad. With kiss and tear they are parting. 'Tis late—the rush and roar— The life of Picadilly is waning—is no more. Ah, the dark, the cold, the 

 Prev. P 8/59 next