I have no joy in strife,
Peace is my great desire;
Yet God forbid I lose my life
Through fear to face the fire.
A peaceful man must fight
For that which peace demands—
Freedom and faith, honor and right,
Defend with heart and hands.
Farewell, my friendly books;
Farewell, ye woods and streams;
The fate that calls me forward looks
To a duty beyond dreams.
Oh, better to be dead
With a face turned to the sky,
Than live beneath a slavish dread
And serve a giant lie.
Stand up, my heart, and strive
For the things most dear to thee!
Why should we care to be alive
Unless the world is free?
May, 1918.
The winds of war-news change and veer
Now westerly and full of cheer,
Now easterly, depressing, sour
With tidings of the Teutons' power.
But thou, America, whose heart
With brave Allies has taken part,