The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985, 1918-11-11
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was blind for twenty months, yet ]
sing nc song of hate.
/ IF we curse and rave about them,
we sink, in a certain sense, to their
OWE level. Let us win this war; let
us beat the boche; let us kill Prus-
slanism, but let us not sink to the
same level with the Hun.
| War is a mans medicine I know
! of no one who gets more out of life
! than the soldier at the front"
| He paid high tribute to the Ameri-
can troops, saying that the first time
| in three years that the Germans saw
i the backs of the Australians was when
| the latter turned around to look at
| the American doughboys, coming over
| the top.
With wonderful gift of speech and
a voice that has marvellous carrying
power, Mr.. Skeyhill is easily one Of
the most compelling speakers ever
heard here, and his story of the seige
of Gallipoli, at which he was wound
ed, was one of the most graphic Of
descriptions, and thrilled his hearers
with its story of heroism.
His whimsical humor, his strong de-
nunciation of the evil Of the war and
his faith in the good that is to come
out Of it, were compelling in their
power and held the audience for more
than half an hour, silent and thrilled
except for frequent laughter and ap-
plause.
At the Baptist Church in the even
ing, Mr. Skeyhill spoke to a large au-
dience again under the auspices of the
United War Work camp campaign
committee.
At the church in the evening Mr..
Skeyhill spoke particularly of the
poets who had given their lives in the
Great Cause, and of the drama Of the
war. At the First Methodist Church
in the morning he spoke to great au-
dience and again at the Naval Air Sta
ton in the afternoon
Mr.. SkeyhiIl, who won the British
Literary Prize, has given The Jour
nal the following beautiful poem, for
publication:
DIXIE-LAND
fThroueh the Window Of Railway
Train in South Carolina)
Bnfnrn me, like the pictures on the
screen,
r. Yer brooks and fields Of wav
Whilst in the far flung distance, lone |
and bare,
The mountains peer from out their |
clouded lair.
The cyprus and the maple, Of their |
verdure shed,
Stand. stark and still, and silent as the |
dead,
A mat of multi-colored flowers below.
Soft drapes the field where tabled |
fairies go
Each night, to serenade beneath the
trees.
And drink, from silver cups, the in
censed breeze,
Or. mayhap, who can tell what fairies
do,
To wait the morn and suck the pearl
ing dew
CLOVIS in the west, where colors gar
landed
Steal out through space to fondle and
The lone clouds, in their virgin love-
High. on the wing, in richest notes,
fSld rare
A wild bird fills the cool autumnal
air
With melody divine. Across the way
4 mother watches as her children play,
And down the winding pike, soft-eyed
and glad
A maiden walks to meet her southern
lad.
And as I sit here in this southbound
train,
It seems as though the loneliness and
pain
Of blasted hopes, and youthful prom
Uses slain
5often-since earth was earth, the eyes
of man
Have ne'er beheld more delightful
span
Than these soft skies and colored hills
so grand.
Oh Lord, it is, it is thy promised land