And, speaking of sacrifices, let us consider this drink question.  What is our duty in that matter?  Well, I think our duty is this, that, if the Government of this country seriously think it is necessary for our success in this war to stop drink altogether until the war is ended, it is our duty loyally to support and accept that decision. [Loud applause.]

At any rate, in time of war we should be ready to say, “Let us sacrifice a personal pleasure in order to get a great national good.”  Would not that be a something to lift up a nation and make it a wonderful and a great nation?

I believe that in this war we are fighting for things undying and great; we are fighting for liberty; we are fighting for honor; we are fighting to preserve the great inheritance won for us by our forefathers, and it is worth while to fight for those things, and it is worth while to die for them—­to die a glorious death in defense of all that makes life worth having is better than to live unending years of inglorious life.  And so, out of this great trial that has come upon us, I believe a wonderful transformation will come to the people of this country and we shall emerge from it stronger and better and nobler and more worthy of our great traditions than ever we should perhaps have been without it. [Loud and continued applause.]

The Soldiers Pass

By MAURICE HEWLETT.

[From “Sing Songs of the War.”]

    The soldiers pass at nightfall,
      A girl within each arm,
    And kisses quick and light fall
      On lips that take no harm. 
    Lip language serves them better
      Who have no parts of speech: 
    No syntax there to fetter
      The lore they love to teach.

    What waist would shun th’ indenture
      Of such a gallant squeeze? 
    What girl’s heart not dare venture
      The hot-and-cold disease? 
    Nay, let them do their service
      Before the lads depart! 
    That hand goes where the curve is
      That billows o’er the heart.

    Who deems not how ’tis given,
      What knows he of its worth? 
    ’Tis either fire of heaven
      Or earthiness of earth. 
    And if the lips are fickle
      That kiss, they’ll never know
    If tears begin to trickle
      Where they saw roses blow.

    “The girl I left behind me,”
      He’ll sing, nor hear her moan,
    “The tears they come to blind me
      As I sit here alone.” 
    What else had you to offer,
      Poor spendthrift of the town? 
    Lay out your unlockt coffer—­
      The Lord will know His own.

The Great End

By Arnold Bennett.