She shall rise, by all that's holy!
She shall live and she shall last;
Rise as we, when crushed and lowly,
From the blackness of the past.
Bid her strike! Lo, it is written
Blood for blood and life for life.
Bid her smite, as she is smitten;

Behold, our stars were born of strife!

Once we flashed her lights of freedom,
Lights that dazzled her dark eyes
Till she could but yearning heed them,
Reach her hands and try to rise.

Then they stabbed her, choked her, drowned her
Till we scarce could hear a note.

Ah! these rusting chains that bound her!
Oh! these robbers at her throat!

And the kind who forged these fetters?
Ask five-hundred years for news.
Stake and thumbscrew for their betters?
Inquisitions! Banished Jews!

Chains and slavery! What reminder
Of one red man in that land?
Why, these very chains that bind her
Bound Columbus, foot and hand!

She shall rise as rose Columbus

From his chains, from shame and wrong—

Rise as Morning, matchless, wondrous-
Rise as some rich morning song,-
Rise a ringing song and story,

Valor, Love personified

Stars and stripes espouse her glory,

Love and Liberty allied.

From "A MESSAGE TO GARCIA”1

ELBERT HUBBARD

Elbert Hubbard (1859-1915), lecturer and writer, was the original Roycrofter. The individual quality of his mind appears in all his biographical writings, essays, and editorials. He was a master of words and a man of ideas. When the Lusitania sank on May 7, 1915, torpedoed off the Irish coast, Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard were among those lost. The "Message to Garcia" is the most widely known of the many literary pieces inspired by the Spanish-American war. This "preachment" was first printed in the Philistine Magazine for March, 1899. Since then it has undergone countless reprintings and translations into many foreign languages.

Lieutenant Andrew S. Rowan left for Cuba on April 23, 1898, and on May 11 won his way back to safety at Key West after enduring great hardship on his solitary, perilous journey. He was immediately promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel for his act.

IN ALL this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion.

1 Used by permission of The Roycrofter Press.

When war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain fastnesses of Cuba no one knew where. No mail or telegraph message could reach him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly.

What to do!

Some one said to the President, "There's a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can."

Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other side of the island, having traversed a hostile country on foot and delivered his letter to Garcia, are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail.

The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?" By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause

them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies; do the thing-"Carry a message to Garcia!"

ONE BENEATH OLD GLORY1

ANONYMOUS

When the United States declared war against Spain on April 25, 1898, our country was poorly prepared; the regular army was only 25,000 strong. President McKinley straightway called for 125,000 volunteers, and soon after for 75,000 more. By the end of August, 216,000 men had responded to the call of the President, many more than were needed for active service in the field.

DON'T you hear the tramp of soldiers?
Don't you hear the bugles play?

Don't you see the muskets flashing
In the sunlight far away?

Don't you feel the ground all trembling

'Neath the tread of many feet?

They are coming, tens of thousands,

To the army and the fleet.

They are Yankees, they are Johnnies,
They're from North and South no more;
They are one, and glad to follow
When Old Glory goes before.

1 From Poems of American Patriotism. The Page Company.

From Atlantic to Pacific,

From the Pine Tree to Lone Star,
They are gath'ring round Old Glory,
And they're marching to the war.

Don't you see the harbors guarded
By those bristling dogs of war?
Don't you hear them growling, barking,
At the fleet beyond the bar?

Don't you hear the Jack Tars cheering,
Brave as sailor lads can be?

Don't you see the water boiling
Where the squadron put to sea?

They are Yankees, they are Johnnies, They're for North and South no more; They are one, and glad to follow When Old Glory goes before.

From Atlantic to Pacific,

From the Pine Tree to Lone Star,

They have gathered 'round Old Glory,

'And they're sailing to the war.

Don't you hear the horses prancing? Don't you hear the sabres clash? Don't you hear the cannons roaring? Don't you hear the muskets crash? Don't you smell the smoke of battle? Oh, you'll wish that you had gone,