Linden Lane

HOLY CROSS: MAY, 1917

(For Major Joseph W. O'Connor, '03)


Birds are merry and the buds
Come along with May:
Lonely is the linden land
For lads that went today.

What calls the May of song
But the fair young spring?
Heard our boys another tune
Sterner voices sing.

Bugles blew by land and sea,
And the tocsin drum;
See, brave hearts go down the hill,
Shouting, "Hail, we come."

From the towers that show the Cross,
Staunch the Flag waved out,
And the royal Purple shook
Joyous with the shout.

Heigh-ho! And a lusty cheer,
Down the linden lane:
The pine grove looked but cannot tell
If they'll come home again.

Few may take the homeward road
When the war is done:
Where they fall or when they come,
Hail, to the cause they won.

Till the buds and the merry birds
Come another May,
Cross and Flag aloft shall bless
Brave lads who went today.

Michael Earls

Michael Earls, born on November 2, 1875, and died on November 7, 1937, was an American poet, playwright, and Jesuit priest. He was a prolific writer, contributing to numerous American periodicals and magazines. His works often explored themes of faith, nature, and human experience. He was known for his engaging style and profound insights into spirituality and everyday life. Earls had a significant influence on Catholic literature in America during the early 20th century.

Michael Earls

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The Countersign

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English

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The Towers Of Holy Cross

(For W. M. Letts)


The roads look up to Holy Cross,
The sturdy towers look down,
And show a kindly word to all
Who pass by Worcester Town;
And once you'd see the boys at play,
Or marching cap and gown.

The gallant towers at Holy Cross
Are silent night and day,
A few young lads are left behind
Who still may take their play;
The Cross and Flag look out afar
For them that went away.

And mine are gone, says Beaven Hall,
To camps by hill and plain,
And mine along by Newport Sea,
Says the high tower of O'Kane;
I follow mine, Alumni calls,
Across the watery main.

Their sires were in the old Brigade
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that were his faith and joy:
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Off To The War

(For Jack)


In a little ship and down the bay,
Out to the calling sea,
A young brave lad sailed off today,
To the one great war went he:
The one long war all men must know
Greater than land or gold,
Soul is the prince and flesh the foe
Of a kingdom Christ will hold.

With arms of faith and hope well-wrought
The brave lad went away,
And the voice of Christ fills all his thought,
Under two hands that pray:
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That guarded all his years,
Fitted the armor, plate and bands,
And blessed them with her tears.


Older than Rhodes and Ascalon
And the farthest forts of sea,
Is the Master voice that calls him on
From the hills in Galilee:
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War In The North

Not from Mars and not from Thor
Comes the war, the welcome war,
Many months we waited for
To free us from the bondage
Of Winter's gloomy reign:
Valor to our hope is bound,
Songs of courage loud resound,
Vowed is Spring to win her ground
Through all our northern country,
From Oregon to Maine.

All our loyal brave allies
In the Southlands mobilize,
Faith is sworn to our emprise,
The scouting breezes whisper
That help is sure today:
Vanguards of the springtime rains
Cannonade the hills and plains,
Freeing them from Winter's chains,
So birds and buds may flourish
Around the throne of May.

Hark! and hear the clarion call
Bluebirds give by fence and wall!
Look! The darts of sunlight fall,
And red shields of the robins

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A Song

(For John McCormack)


June of the trees in glory,
June of the meadows gay!
O, and it works a story
To tell an October day.

Blooms of the apple and cherry
Toil for the far-off hours;
Never is idleness merry,
In song of the garden bowers.

Brooks to the sea from mountains,
Yea, and from field and vine:
Rain and the sun are fountains
That gather for wheat and wine.

Cellar and loft shall glory,
Table and hearth shall praise,
Hearing October's story
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Pilgrims

For oh, when the war will be over
We'll go and we'll look for our dead;
We'll go when the bee's on the clover,
And the plume of the poppy is red:
We'll go when the year's at its gayest,
When meadows are laughing with flow'rs;
And there where the crosses are greyest,
We'll seek for the cross that is ours.

For they cry to us: 'Friends, we are lonely,
A-weary the night and the day;
But come in the blossom-time only,
Come when our graves will be gay:
When daffodils all are a-blowing,
And larks are a-thrilling the skies,
Oh, come with the hearts of you glowing,
And the joy of the Spring in your eyes.

'But never, oh, never come sighing,
For ours was the Splendid Release;
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The Green Brigade

ON THE FIELD OF CORN



Where is the war ye march unto,
From the early tents of morn?
And what are the deeds ye hope to do,
Brave Grenadiers of Corn?
Pearls of the dew are on your hair,
And the jewels of morning light,
Pennants of green ye fling to the air,
And the tall plumes waving bright.

Gaily away and steady ye go,
Never a faltering line:
Forward! I follow and try to know
Word of your countersign:
Hist! The spies of the tyrant sun
Eagerly watch your plan,
Lavish with bribes of gold, they run
Down to your outmost man.

Steady, good lads, go bravely on
By the parching hills of pain,
An armor of shade ye soon may don
And meet the allies of rain:
And night in the bivouac hours will sing
Praise of the mar...

Michael Earls