15 JULY 1916, Page 13

THE CHALLENGE OF THE GUNS.

BY day, by night, along the lines their dull boom rings, And that reverberating roar its challenge flings Not only unto thee across the narrow sea, But from the loneliest vale in the last land's heart

The sad-eyed watching mother seen her sons depart.

And freighted full the tumbling wastes of ocean are With aid for England from England's sons afar. The glass is dim ; we see not wisely, far, nor well. But bred of English bone, and reared on Freedom's wine, All that wo have and arc wo lay on England's shrine.