Iv

O Daughters of the brave, well ye abjure The fiend and all his works. Ye know his smiles Are fire-fly flare at gloaming, lighting miles Of snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impure From mind and soul decay; hence are heart-sure That creed and racial hatreds are his wiles, For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles, And is the strength that makes our land endure.

O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gaze Into their eyes, your love runs through their vains In crimson flushes--oh, your love that pains At any of God's creatures hurt! that stays; The heavens may pass away, but that remains, Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways.