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What is It? by Mrs. S. A. Collins There is an indescribable something Hanging over this nation today, Causing people to pause amidst action, And wonder what power holds her sway. We see by the press almost daily, That trouble is brewing both near and afar, And the cry of the hasty is heard o'er our land, "Up to arms! Now my boys there'll be war." It seems, in a land full of plenty, In a land full of freedom and life, It is wrong to be always misgiving, Always stirring up hatred and stife. But there is a cry coming ovel' the ocean, I hear it much plainer by far, Than the one heard so plain by our statesmen, Which, may seem to them calling for war. 'Tis the cry of the'suffering Armenians, I heal' the wail as it comes o'er the sea, Saying loudly, "Oh, come to our rescue, Come quickly, or too late you will be." I see the wild Turk in his fury, Rushing on in his fiendish desire, Eager to torture those poor helpless creatures, Eager to kill and their homes set on fire. I see the poor wanderer with no one to comfort No means to gain clothing or food, Alone in a land of murder and plunder; Someone ought surely to do them some good. Awake from your slumber, O nations! Gird on your armour. Be ready to fight If need be for those who are tortured today, For living for God, for honor and right. I hear in the roar of the dark heaving billows, I see in the black cloud as it sweeps through the sky, I feel in the air that is free to all nations 'Tis duty to help them, if in helping we die. I know all too well of the misery and want That would vanish and give way for good, If we all were permitted to act our own part, And each one could be, and do as they would. But as we are mere nothings in a conflict like this, Let the people whose words seem command, Arise in their might and with God as their leader, Banish the evil from that grief-stricken land. |