Lies heavy as death upon thee; though the wrath
Of its accursed might is in thy path
And has usurped thy children of their land;
Though yet the scourges of a monstrous hand
Roam on your ruined fields, your trampled lanes,
Your ravaged homes and desolated fanes;
Thou are not dead, but sleeping,-- Motherland.
A mighty country, valorous and free,
Thou shalt outlive this terror and this pain;
Shall call thy scattered children back to thee,
Strong with the memory of their brothers slain;
And rise from out thy charnel house to be
Thine own immortal, brilliant self again!
Published in Opportunity, May 1924