The Irish standard., 1914-05-30

by COL. NOBEk1 u. 1NGEkSOxAb
~ HE past rises before me
:: :: : ! !: !: ]; J:
like dream. Again
we are in the great
struggle for national
@M life. We hear the
& sounds Of preparation
the music Of bolster
~ Gus drums-the silver
JSnne voices Of heroic bugles.
We see thousands Of
essemblages. and hear the appeals of
orators. We see the pale cheeks Of
women and the flushed faces Of men:
and In those assemblages we see all
the dead whose dust we have covered
with flowers. We lose sight Of them
no more. We are with them when they
enlist in the great army Of freedom.
We see them part with those they love.
Some are walking for the last time In
quiet, woody places, with the maidens
they adore. We hear the whisperings
and the sweet vows of eternal love
as they lingeringly part forever. 9th
ers are bending over cradles, kissing
babes that are asleep. Some are re-
ceiving the blessings Of old men. Some
are parting with mothers who hold
them and press them to their hearts
again and again and say nothing.
Kisses and tears, tears and Kisses
divine mingling Of agony and love!
And some are talking with wives, and
endeavoring with brave words, spoken
In the old tones, to drive from their
hearts the awful fear. We see them
part. We see the wife standing in
the door with the babe in her arms,
standing in the sunlight sobbing. At
the turn Of the road hand waves
she answers by holding high in her
loving arms the child. He Is gone,
and forever.
We see them all as they march
proudly away under the Haunting flags,
keeping time to the grand, wild music
Of war-marching down the streets Of
the great cities-through the towns
and across the prairies- to the
fields Of glory. to do and to die for
the eternal right.
We go with them, one and all. We
are by their side on all the CORY fields
in all the hospitals Of pain-on all
the weary marches. We stand guard
with them in the wild storm and under
the quiet stars. We are with them in
ravines running with blood-in tho
burrows Of old fields. We are with
them between contending hosts, I'M
able to move, wild with thirst, the life
ebbing slowly away among the with
cred leaves. We see them pierced by
balls and torn with shells, in the
trenches, by forts, and in the whirl-
wind Of the charge. where men become
Iron, with nerves Of steel.
We are with them in the prisons OF
hatred and famine; but human speech
can never tell what they endured.
We are at home when the news
comes that they are dead. We see
the maiden In the shadow Of her first
sorrow. We see the silvered head Of
the old man bowed with the last grief.
The past rises before I'd, and we see
four millions Of human beings gov
erned by the lash-we see them bound
hand and foot-we hear the strokes Of
ruel whips-we zee the hounds track
ing women through tangled swamps.
We see the babes sold from the
breasts Of mothers. Cruelty unspeak.
able! Outrage infinite!
Four million bodies in chains-four
million souls In letters. All the sacred
relations of wife, mother, father and
child trampled beneath the brutal feet
OF might. And all this was done un.
der our own beautiful banner Of the
free. ,>az
The past rises before us. We hear
the roar and shrek Of the bursting
shell. The broken letters fall. These
heroes died. We look. Instead Of
slaves we see men and women and
children. The wand of progress
touches the auction-block, the slave.
pen. the whipping post, and we see
homes and flresides and schoolhouses
and books. and. where all was want
and crime and cruelty and fear. We
see the faces Of the free.
These heroes are dead. They died
for nberty-they died for US. They
are at rest They sleep in the land
they made free, under the flag they
rendered stainless. under the solemn
pines. the sad hemlocks, the fearful
willows and the embracing vines. They
sleep beneath the shadows Of the
clouds, careless alike Of sunshine or
Of storm, each in the windowless
Palace Of Rest. Earth may run red
with other wars-they are ut peace.
In the midst Of battle. In the roar Of
conflict. they found the serenity Of
death. have one sentiment for sol-
diers. living and dead: Cheers for,
the living; tears for the dead.
Historical Note.
wasn't King John . wicked man1''
said the professors little daughter the
other evening. HE used to run over
people with his motor cars" The