DANIEL M. HENDERSON
Permission to reproduce in this book
The 1917 prize of the National Arts Club of New York was awarded to Mr. Henderson's poem. It was chosen out of more than four thousand that were submitted.
THANK God, our liberating lance
Goes flaming on the way to France!
To France--the trail the Gurkhas found;
To France--old England's rallying--ground!
To France--the path the Russians strode!
To France--the Anzacs' glory road!
To France--where our Lost Legion ran
To fight and die for God and man!
To France--with every race and breed
That hates Oppression's brutal creed!
All, France, how could our hearts forget
The path by which came Lafayette?
How could the haze of doubt hang low
Upon the road of Rochambeau?
How was it that we missed the way
Brave Joffre leads us along today?
At last, thank God! At last, we see
There is no tribal Liberty!
No beacon lighting just our shores,
No Freedom guarding but our doors.
The flame she kindled for our sires
Burns now in Europe's battle--fires.
The soul that led our fathers west
Turns back to free the world's opprest.
Allies, you have not called in vain;
We share your conflict and your pain.
"Old Glory," through new stains and rents,
Partakes of Freedom's sacraments.
Into that hell his will creates
We drive the foe--his lusts, his hates.
Last come, we will he last to stay,
Till Right has had her crowning day.
Replenish, comrades, from our veins
The blood the sword of despot drains,
And make our eager sacrifice
Part of the freely rendered price
You pay to lift humanity
You pay to make our brothers free.
See, with what proud hearts we advance
To France!
