Old Road to Paradise. Margaret Widdemer

His step that crisps the snow,

       His laughing kiss, wind-cold. …

       Only the very old

       Gifts that the night-star brings,

       Dear homely evening-things,

       Dear things of all the world,

       And yet my throat locks tight …

       Somewhere far off I know

       Are ashes on red snow

       That were a home last night.

FATHER PRAYER

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      LORD God, Who let Your baby son

       Pass earthward where the joys were few

       To a hard death when all was done,

       And very far away from You;

       My little lad must go today

       Paths where I cannot guide his feet,

       Through dangers that I cannot stay

       To strife I cannot help him meet;

       He has heard voices calling him

       Though youth is gay and life is warm,

       And right seems far away and dim,

       To weary ways and battle-storm:

       Lord God, Whose Son went steadily

       Down the hard road He had to tread,

       Guard my son too, that he may be

       Strong in his hours of doubt and dread!

GOOD-BY, MY LOVER

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      ALL the flags stream abroad, and the crowds wave and cry–

       And I watch for your face in the long lines marching by;

       For my lips bade you go, but my heart would bid you stay–

       Oh, lad, and will the war be long, and you so far away?

       And your step as you marched, would it lag or fall more true

       If you know that my heart's gone to war to follow you?

POEM FOR A PICTURE

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      (Children at play on a French Battlefield)

       "WHEN I was a child,"

       You shall tell one day,

       Children, on these blackened fields

       Gallantly at play,

       "All the quiet sky

       Burst in death aflame;

       One day, I was young,

       Then … The Horror came."

       "When I was a child … "

       Wind-tossed leaves of war,

       Is there childhood still for you,

       Wise in horror-lore,

       Who have heard your sisters' screams

       Shattering your play,

       Seen your mothers past their dead

       Led to shame away?

       Ragged, helpless, maimed,

       Hungry, left alone

       Where the smoking roof-beams lie

       By the wrecked hearth-stone,

       Still you mime (child-hearts are strong,

       Childhood pain is brief)

       Echoes of world-victory,

       World-defeat, world-grief!

       Dauntless in your rags,

       Insolent in mirth,

       Laughing with young lips that know

       All the griefs of earth,

       God, who loves a high heart well,

       Will not let you fail–

       You are France, who laughs at Hell–

       France, who shall prevail!

PRAYER FOR THE NEW YEAR

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      LORD God, we lift to Thee

       A world hurt sore.

       Look down, and let it be

       Wounded no more!

       Lord, when this year is done

       That wakes today

       Many shall pray to Thee

       Who do not pray;

       Let all lips comfort them,

       All hearts be kind,

       They who this year shall leave

       Their joys behind:

       Give them Thy comforting,

       Help them to know

       That though their hopes are gone

       Thou dost not go;

       They who shall give for Thee

       Lover and son,

       Show them Thy world set free,

       Thy battles done!

       Lord God, we lift to Thee

       A world in pain,

       Look down and let it be

       Made whole again!