<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Vive La France!</h1><p class="byline"> CHARLOTTE HOLMES CRAWFORD <br xmlns:exist="http://exist.sourceforge.net/NS/exist" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"/>By permission: From Scribner's Magazine, copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner's Sons.</p><div class="stanza"><p class="line">FRANCELINE rose in the dawning gray,</p><p class="line">And her heart would dance though she knelt to pray, </p><p class="line">For her man Michel had holiday,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">Fighting for France.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">She offered her prayer by the cradle--side, </p><p class="line">And with baby palms folded in hers she cried: </p><p class="line">"I have but one prayer, dear, crucified</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">Christ--save France!"</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">But if I have two, then, by Mary's grace, </p><p class="line">Carry me safe to the meeting place, </p><p class="line">Let me look once again on-- my dear love's face,</p><p class="line">Save him for France!"</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">She crooned to her boy: "Oh, how glad he'll be,</p><p class="line">Little three-months old, to set eyes on thee! </p><p class="line">For 'Rather than gold, would I give,' wrote he,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">'A son to France.'</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Come, now, be good, little stray sauterelle, </p><p class="line">For we're going by-by to thy papa Michel,</p><p class="line">But I'll not say where for fear thou wilt tell,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">Little pigeon of France!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">"Six days' leave and a year between!</p><p class="line">But what would you have? In six days clean, </p><p class="line">Heaven was made," said Franceline,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">"Heaven and France."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">She came to the town of the nameless name, </p><p class="line">To the marching troops in the street she came, </p><p class="line">And she held high her boy like a taper flame </p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">Burning for France.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Fresh from the trenches and gray with grim,</p><p class="line">Silent they march like a pantomime;</p><p class="line">"But what need of music? My hear beats time-</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">Vive la France</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Then out of the ranks a comrade fell-</p><p class="line">"Yesterday-'twas a splinter of shell-</p><p class="line">And he whispered thy name, did poor michel,</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">Dying for France."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The tread of the troops on the pavement throbbed</p><p class="line">Like a woman's heart of its last joy robbed,</p><p class="line">As she lifted her boy to the flag, and sobbed</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:7%">"Vive la France!" </p></div></body></html> · Great War