Katharine Tynan

RE they go marching all in step so gay
Smooth-cheeked and golden, food for shells and guns
Blithely they go as to a wedding day,
The mothers' sons

She looked to east, she looked to west,
Her eyes, unfathomable, mild,
That saw both worlds, came home to rest,­ Home to her own sweet child
God's golden head was at her breast

ST Heaven be thronged with grey-beards hoary,    God, who made boys for His delight,
Stoops in a day of grief and glory    And calls them in, in from the night
When they come trooping from the
Our skies have many a new gold star

This is the sign
This flooding splendour, golden and hyaline,
This sun a golden sea on hill and plain, --That God forgets not, that He walks with men
His smile is on the mountain and the

If Thou,
Lord God, willest to judge     This,
Thy very piteous
Which to save Christ did not grudge     His last dying,

Where there is nothing God comes in: The Very God has room
In the poor heart that's stripped so clean Of earth and all the joys thereof
I looked for shadow and the night When Death had taken her Love away,
But for the darkness there...

He sleeps as a lamb sleeps,
Beside his mother
Somewhere in yon blue deeps His tender brother Sleeps like a lamb and leaps
He feeds as a lamb might,

He died the loneliest death of all,     Amid his foes he died
But Someone's leaped the outer wall    And Someone's come inside,
And he has gotten a golden
To set the lonesome prisoner free

OU who guidest the swallow and wren,
Keep the paths of the flying men
Over the mountains, over the seas Thou hast given the bird-folk compasses
Thou guidest them, yea,

He was so foolish, the poor lad, He made superior people smile Who knew not of the wings he had Budding and growing all the while;
Nor that the laurel wreath was made Already for his curly head
Silly and childish in his ways; They said: ...

Bring flowers to strew His way,
Yea, sing, make holiday;
Bid young lambs leap,
And earth laugh after sleep

So I have sunk my roots in earth Since that my pretty boys had birth;
And fear no more the grave and gloom,
I, with the centuries to come
As the tree blossoms so bloom I,