SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE VOL. LXIV The Assembly. JULY, 1918 NO. 1 A CALL TO ARMS By Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews In memory of Captain Philip Kilburn Lighthall, who offered to his country, on the deck It is I, America, calling! Above the sound of rivers falling, Above the whir of the wheels and the chime of bells in the steeple Bells ringing silverly clear and slow To church-going, leisurely steps on pavements below. Above all familiar sounds of the life of a nation I shout to you a name. And the flame of that name is sped Like fire into hearts where blood runs red The hearts of the land burn hot to the land's salvation As I call across the long miles, as I, America, call to my nation Americans, remember the Tuscania! Shall we not remember how they died In their young courage and loyalty and pride, Our boys-bright-eyed, clean lads of America's breed, Hearts of gold, limbs of steel, flower of the nation indeed? How they tossed their years to be Into icy waters of a winter sea That we whom they loved-that the world which they loved should be free? Ready, ungrudging they died, each one thinking, likely, as the moment was come Of the dear, starry flag, worth dying for, and then of dear faces at home; Going down in good order, with a song on their lips of the land of the free and the brave Till each young, deep voice stopped-under the rush of a wave. Was it like that? And shall their memory ever grow pale? Not ever, till the stars in the flag of America fail. It is I, America, who swear it, calling Copyright, 1918, by Charles Scribner's Sons. All rights reserved. Printed in New York. |