POETRY.

TO THE RACE.

YOUR name is large on every sea, And your keels have underscored The title deed,

That the world may heed Row the deed runs, word for word: IsTo land so far, no pass so steep, But the threefold cross wine through: Yet we of the West, We love you best

For the things you dare not do.

Others there be who have strewn their road With the dust of a deathless dead.

From the South, from the North, Their feet went forth, And the blood they spent was red ; Honour was theirs in the harvest days, And the praise of the Just rang true ' Till one by one, They have dared and done, The things that you dare not do.

They talk in the North of a sword laid down, Of a peace with a world-wide lease: , But what of the men , In the exiles' pen Where death alone brings peace P The " peace on earth " with a Jew was born, They have spurned from the land the Jew ; And dark at their gate, The spectres wait, Of the things you dare not do.

They talk in the South of the rights of man, They have done with the robe and the crown : But Justice pales At the clash, in her scales, Of the sword that weighs them down. They look abroad for the leaves of bay To cover the sprays of rue, And they drown, with the drums, The shame that comes From the things you dare not do.

What seed is this for the lands that lie To the first stout arm rich prey?

What light of hope For the years that grope To the verge of a tardy day P "Share," is the cry, "and share alike"; But your strong sons ask of you,

"Is it well to share

With the hands that dare The things that you dare not do?

"The hope of the years is the blood we bear, Are we true to our breed, to our salt, If we leave undone The work begun Though the North and the South cry 'Halt'?

The furrows we draw are straight and deep, And ' truth' is the seed we strew.

With the hand to the plough To turn back now Is a thing we dare not do !"

L'ENvOi.

The blood of the West is the blood of the world, Of a mingled stream come we;

But the blood—that tells— Of our hearts' best cells—

Is the blood we owe to thee.

We stand to pay, when the need shall come, With the best of the strain we drew, Lest the world hark back, On an outworn track, To the things you dare not do.

ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS.

University Club, New York City.