Archive for November 9th, 2021

Tuesday, 9 November 2021

To Belgium in Exile by Owen Seaman

[Lines dedicated to one of her priests, by whose words they were prompted.]
[Reprinted by permission of the Proprietors of Punch.]

Land of the desolate, Mother of tears,
⁠Weeping your beauty marred and torn,
Your children tossed upon the spears,
⁠Your altars rent, your hearths forlorn,
Where Spring has no renewing spell,
And Love no language save a long Farewell!

Ah, precious tears, and each a pearl
⁠Whose price—for so in God we trust
Who saw them fall in that blind swirl
⁠Of ravening flame and reeking dust—
The spoiler with his life shall pay,
When Justice at the last demands her Day.

O tried and proved, whose record stands
⁠Lettered in blood too deep to fade,
Take courage! Never in our hands
⁠Shall the avenging sword be stayed
Till you are healed of all your pain,
And come with Honour to your own again.

May 19, 1915.

From: Clarke, George Herbert (ed.), A Treasury of War Poetry: British and American Poems of the World War, 1914-1919, 1917, Hodder and Stoughton: London, New York and Toronto, pp. 76-78.
(https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/A_treasury_of_war_poetry,_British_and_American_poems_of_the_world_war,_1914-1919/Belgium)

Date: 1915

By: Owen Seaman (1861-1936)