E-text prepared by Pat Saumell and Chuck Greif

Over Here

By

Edgar A. Guest

Author of

"A Heap o' Livin'" "Just Folks"

The Reilly & Britton Co.

Chicago

1918

To the Mothers Over Here

INDEX

[Alarm, The]
[America]
[April Thoughts]
[As It Looks to the Boy]
[Battle Prayer, A]
[Beautifying the Flag]
[Better Thing, The]
[Big Deeds, The]
[Bigger Than His Dad]
[Boy Enlists, The]
[Boy's Adventure, The]
[Call,The]
[Call to Service, The]
[Change, The]
[Chaplain, The]
[Christmas, 1918]
[Christmas Box, The]
[Christmas Greeting, A]
[Complacent Slacker,The]
[Constant Beauty]
[Creed, A]
[Discovery of a Soul, The]
[Do Your All]
[Drafted]
[Duty]
[Easy Service]
[Envy]
[Everywhere in America]
[Exempt]
[Father's Prayer, A]
[Father's Thoughts, A]
[Father's Tribute, A]
[Flag, The]
[Flag on the Farm, The]
[Fly a Clean Flag]
[Follow a Famous Father]
[Follow the Flag]
[For Your Boy and Mine]
[Friendly Greeting, The]
[From Laughter to Labor]
[Future, The]
[General Pershing]
[Girl He Left Behind, The]
[Glory of Age, The]
[Gold Givers, The]
[Good Luck]
[Good Soldier, A]
[Hate]
[He Should Meet a Mother There]
[Here We Are!]
[His Room]
[His Santa Claus]
[Honor Roll, The]
[Hope]
[Ideals]
[Important Thing, The]
[Joy to Be, The]
[July the Fourth, 1917]
[Kelly Ingram]
[Life's Slacker]
[Living]
[Memorial Day]
[Mother Faith, The]
[Mother on the Sidewalk, The]
[Mothers and Wives]
[My Part]
[New Year, The]
[Next of Kin]
[Our Duty to Our Flag]
[Out of It All]
[Over Here]
[Patriot, A]
[Patriotic Creed, A]
[Patriotic Wish, A]
[Plea, A]
[Prayer, A]
[Prayer, 1918, A]
[Princess Pats, The]
[Proof of Worth, The]
[Prophecy]
[Rebellion]
[Reflection]
[Runner McGee]
[See It Through]
[Selfishness]
[Show the Flag]
[Soldier on Crutches, The]
[Soldierly]
[Spring in the Trenches]
[Struggle, The]
[Sympathy]
[Taking His Place]
[Thanksgiving]
[Things That Make a Soldier Great, The]
[Thoughts of a Soldier]
[Time for Deeds, The]
[To a Kindly Critic]
[To a Lady Knitting]
[To the Men at Home]
[Undaunted, The]
[United]
[Unsettled Scores, The]
[Waiter at the Camp, The]
[Warriors]
[War's Homecoming]
[We Need a Few More Optimists]
[We Who Stay at Home]
[We've Had a Letter From the Boy]
[When the Drums Shall Cease to Beat]
[Why We Fight]
[Wish, A]
[Wrist Watch Man, The]
[Your Country Needs You]

Over Here

Pledged to the bravest and the best,

We stand, who cannot share the fray,

Staunch for the danger and the test.

For them at night we kneel and pray.

Be with them, Lord, who serve the truth,

And make us worthy of our youth!

Here mother-love and father-love

Unite in love of country now;

Here to the flag that flies above,

Our heads we reverently bow;

Here as one people, night and day,

For victory we work and pray.

Nor race nor creed shall difference make,

Nor bigot mar the zealot's plan;

We give our all for Freedom's sake,

Each man a king, each king a man.

Make us the equal, Lord, we pray

Of them who die for truth to-day!

Let us as gladly give our best,

Let us as bravely pay the price

As they, who in the bitter test

Meet the supremest sacrifice.

Oh, God! Wherever we are led,

Let us be worthy of our dead!

Let us not compromise the truth,

Let us not cringe so much in fear

That foes may whisper to our youth

That we have failed in courage here.

Lord, strengthen us, that they may know

Our spirits follow where they go!

Why We Fight

This is the thing we fight:

A cry of terror in the night;

A ship on work of mercy bent—

A carrier of the sick and maimed—

Beneath the cruel waters sent,

And those that did it, unashamed.

A woman who had tried to fill

A mother's place; had nursed the ill

And soothed the troubled brows of pain

And earned the dying's grateful prayers,

Before a wall by soldiers slain!

And such a poor pretext was theirs!

Old women pierced by bayonets grim

And babies slaughtered for a whim,

Cathedrals made the sport of shells,

No mercy, even for a child,

As though the imps of all the hells

Were crazed with drink and running wild.

All this we fight—that some day when

Good sense shall come again to men,

Our children's children may not read

This age's history thus defamed

And find we served a selfish creed

And ever be of us ashamed!

America

God has been good to men. He gave

His Only Son their souls to save,

And then he made a second gift,

Which from their dreary lives should lift

The tyrant's yoke and set them free

From all who'd throttle liberty.

He gave America to men—

Fashioned this land we love, and then

Deep in her forests sowed the seed

Which was to serve man's earthly need.

When wisps of smoke first upwards curled

From pilgrim fires, upon the world

Unnoticed and unseen, began

God's second work of grace for man.

Here where the savage roamed and fought,

God sowed the seed of nobler thought;

Here to the land we love to claim,

The pioneers of freedom came;

Here has been cradled all that's best

In every human mind and breast.

For full four hundred years and more

Our land has stretched her welcoming shore

To weary feet from soils afar;

Soul-shackled serfs of king and czar

Have journeyed here and toiled and sung

And talked of freedom to their young,

And God above has smiled to see

This precious work of liberty,

And watched this second gift He gave

The dreary lives of men to save.

And now, when liberty's at bay,

And blood-stained tyrants force the fray,

Worn warriors, battling for the right,

Crushed by oppression's cruel might,

Hear in the dark through which they grope

America's glad cry of hope:

Man's liberty is not to die!

America is standing by!

World-wide shall human lives be free:

America has crossed the sea!

America! the land we love!

God's second gift from Heaven above,

Builded and fashioned out of truth,

Sinewed by Him with splendid youth

For that glad day when shall be furled

All tyrant flags throughout the world.

For this our banner holds the sky:

That liberty shall never die.

For this, America began:

To make a brotherhood of man.

The Time for Deeds

We have boasted our courage in moments of ease,

Our star-spangled banner we've flung on the breeze;

We have taught men to cheer for its beauty and worth,

And have called it the flag of the bravest on earth

Now the dark days are here, we must stand to the test.

Oh, God! let us prove we are true to our best!

We have drunk to our flag, and we've talked of the right,

We have challenged oppression to show us its might;

We have strutted for years through the world as a race

That for God and for country, earth's tyrants would face;

Now the gage is flung down, hate is loosed in the world.

Oh, God! shall our flag in dishonor be furled?

We have said we are brave; we have preached of the truth,

We have walked in conceit of the strength of our youth;

We have mocked at the ramparts and guns of the foe,

As though we believed we could laugh them all low.

Now oppression has struck! We are challenged to fight!

Oh, God! let us prove we can stand for the right!

If in honor and glory our flag is to wave,

If we are to keep this—the land of the brave;

If more than fine words are to fashion our creeds,

Now must our hands and our hearts turn to deeds.

We are challenged by tyrants our strength to reveal!

Oh, God! let us prove that our courage is real!

Everywhere in America

Not somewhere in America, but everywhere to-day,

Where snow-crowned mountains hold their heads,

the vales where children play,

Beside the bench and whirring lathe, on every

lake and stream

And in the depths of earth below, men share a

common dream—

The dream our brave forefathers had of freedom

and of right,

And once again in honor's cause, they rally and

unite.

Not somewhere in America is love of country

found,

But east and west and north and south once

more the bugles sound,

And once again, as one, men stand to break

their brother's chains,

And make the world a better place, where only

justice reigns.

The patriotism that is here, is echoed over there,

The hero at a certain post is on guard everywhere.

O'er humble home and mansion rich the starry

banner flies,

And far and near throughout the land the men

of valor rise.

The flag that flutters o'er your home is fluttering

far away

O'er homes that you have never seen. The same

impulses sway

The souls of men in distant states. The red, the

white and blue

Means to one hundred million strong, just what

it means to you.

The self-same courage resolute you feel and

understand

Is throbbing in the breasts of men throughout

this mighty land.

Not somewhere in America, but everywhere to-day,

For justice and for liberty all free men work

and pray.

The Things That Make a Soldier Great

The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die,

To face the flaming cannon's mouth, nor ever question why,

Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red,

The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed,

The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall:

'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting for them all.

'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave;

'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave;

For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam

As when behind the cause they see the little place called home.

Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run—

You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun.

What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees?

The little garden far away, the budding apple trees,

The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play,

Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray.

The golden thread of courage isn't linked to castle dome

But to the spot, where'er it be—the humble spot called home.

And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there,

And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air;

The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green,

And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been.

He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call,

And only death can stop him now—he's fighting for them all.

The Flag

We never knew how much the Flag

Could mean, until he went away,

We used to boast of it and brag,

As something of a by-gone day;

But now the Flag can start our tears

In moments of our greatest joy,

Old Glory in the sky appears

The symbol of our little boy.

We knew that sometimes people wept

To see the Flag go waving by,

But never guessed the griefs they kept—

We never understood just why.

But now our eyes grow quickly dim,

Our voices choke with sobs to-day;

The Flag is telling us of him,

Our little boy who's gone away.

We never knew the Flag could be

So much a part of human life,

We thought it beautiful to see

Before these bitter days of strife;

But now more beautiful it gleams,

And deeper in our hearts it dwells;

It is the emblem of our dreams,

For of our little boy it tells.

A Battle Prayer

God of battles, be with us now:

Guard our sons from the lead of shame,

Watch our sons when the cannons flame,

Let them not to a tyrant bow.

God of battles, to Thee we pray:

Be with each loyal son who fights

In the cause of justice and human rights,

Grant him strength and lead the way.

God of battles, our youth we give

To the battle line on a foreign soil,

To conquer hatred and lust and spoil;

Grant that they and their cause shall live.

Good Luck

Good luck! That's all I'm saying, as you sail across the sea;

The best o' luck, in the parting, is the prayer you get from me.

May you never meet a danger that you won't come safely through,

May you never meet a German that can get the best of you;

Oh! A thousand things may happen when a fellow's at the front,

A thousand different mishaps, but here's hoping that they won't.

Good luck! That's all I'm saying, as you turn away to go,

Good luck and plenty of it, may it be your lot to know;

May you never meet rough weather, but remember if you do

That the folks at home are wishing that you'll all come safely through.

Oh! A thousand things may happen when a fellow bears the brunt

Of His Country's fight for glory, but I'm praying that they won't.

Good luck! That's all I'm saying as you're falling into line;

May the splendor of your service bring you everything that's fine;

May the fates deal kindly with you, may you never know distress,

And may every task you tackle end triumphant with success.

Oh! A thousand things may happen that with joy your life will fill;

You may not get all the gladness, but I'm hoping that you will.

A Prayer, 1918

Oh, make us worthy,

God, we pray,

To do thy service

Here to-day;

Endow us with

The strength we need

For every

Sacrificial deed!

The Change

'Twas hard to think that he must go,

We knew that we should miss him so,

We thought that he must always stay

Beside us, laughing, day by day;

That he must never know the care

And hurt and grief of life out there.

Then came the call for youth, and he

Talked with his mother and with me,

And suddenly we learned the boy

Was hungering to know the joy

Of doing something real with life,

And that he craved the test of strife.

And so we steeled ourselves to dread;

To see at night his empty bed;

To feel the silence and the gloom

That hovers o'er his vacant room,

And though we wept the day he went,

And many a lonely hour we've spent,

We've come to think as he, somehow,

And we are more contented now;

We're proud that we can stand and say

We have a boy who's gone away.

And we are glad to know that he

Is serving where he ought to be.

It's queer, the change that time has brought:

We're different now in speech and thought;

His letters home mean joy to us,

His difficulties we discuss.

When word of his promotion came,

His mother, with her eyes aflame

With happiness and pride, rushed out

To tell the neighbors round about.

Her boy! Her boy is doing well!

What greater news can mothers tell?

I think that pity now we show

For those who have no boys to go.

Mothers and Wives

Mothers and wives, 'tis the call to arms

That the bugler yonder prepares to sound;

We stand on the brink of war's alarms

And your men may lie on a blood-stained

ground.

The drums may play and the flags may fly,

And our boys may don the brown and blue,

And the call that summons brave men to die

Is the call for glorious women, too.

Mothers and wives, if the summons comes,

You, as ever since war has been,

Must hear with courage the rolling drums

And dry your tears when the flags are seen.

For never has hero fought and died

Who has braver been than the mother, who

Buckled his saber at his side,

And sent him forward to dare and do.

Mothers and wives, should the call ring out,

It is you must answer your country's cry;

You must furnish brave hearts and stout

For the firing line where the heroes die.

And never a corpse on the field of strife

Should be honored more in his country's sight

Than the noble mother or noble wife

Who sent him forth in the cause of right.

Mothers and wives, 'tis the call for men

To give their strength and to give their lives;

But well we know, such a summons then

Is the call for mothers and loyal wives,

For you must give us the strength we need,

You must give us the boys in blue,

For never a boy or a man shall bleed

But a mother or wife shall suffer, too.

The Call to Service

These are the days when little thoughts

Must cease men's minds to occupy;

The nation needs men's larger creeds,

Big men must answer to her cry;

No longer selfish ways we tread,

The greater task lies just ahead.

These are the days when petty things

By all men must be thrust aside;

The country needs men's finest deeds,

Awakened is the nation's pride;

Men must forsake their selfish strife

Once more to guard their country's life.

Kelly Ingram

His name was Kelly Ingram; he was Alabama's son,

And he whistled "Yankee Doodle," as he stood beside his gun;

There was laughter in his make-up, there was manhood in his face,

And he knew the best traditions and the courage of his race;

Now there's not a heart among us but should swell with loyal pride

When he thinks of Kelly Ingram and the splendid way he died.

On the swift Destroyer Cassin he was merely gunner's mate,

But up there to-day, I fancy, he is standing with the great.

On that grim day last October his position on the craft

Was that portion of the vessel which the sailors christen aft;

There were deep sea bombs beside him to be dropped upon the Hun

Who makes women folks his victims and then gloats o'er what he's done.

From the lookout came a warning; came the cry all sailors fear,

A torpedo was approaching, and the vessel's doom was near;

Ingram saw the streak of danger, but he saw a little more,

A greater menace faced them than that missile had in store;

If those deep sea bombs beside him were not thrown beneath the wave,

Every man aboard the Cassin soon would find a watery grave.

It was death for him to linger, but he figured if he ran

And quit his post of duty, 'twould be death for every man;

So he stood at his position, threw those depth bombs overboard,

And when that torpedo struck them, he went forth to meet his Lord.

Oh, I don't know how to say it, but these whole United States

Should remember Kelly Ingram—he who died to save his mates.

The Joy to Be

Oh, mother, be you brave of heart and keep

your bright eyes shining;

Some day the smiles of joy shall start and you

shall cease repining.

Beyond the dim and distant line the days of

peace are waiting,

When you shall have your soldier fine, and men

shall turn from hating.

Oh, mother, bear the pain a-while, as long ago

you bore it;

You suffered then to win his smile, and you

were happier for it;

And now you suffer once again, and bear your

weight of sorrow;

Yet you shall thrill with gladness when he wins

the glad to-morrow.

Oh, mother, when the cannons roar and all the

brave are fighting,

Remember that the son you bore the wrongs

of earth is righting;

Remember through the hours of pain that he

with all his brothers

Is battling there to win again a happy world

for mothers.

He Should Meet a Mother There

If he should meet a mother there

Along some winding Flanders road,

No extra touch of grief or care

He'll add unto her heavy load.

But he will kindly take her arm

And tender as her son will be;

He'll lead her from the path of harm

Because of me.

Be she the mother of his foe,

He will not speak to her in hate;

My boy will never stoop so low

As motherhood to desecrate.

But she shall know what once I knew—

Eyes that are glorious to see,

The light of manhood shining through—

Because of me.

He will salute her as they meet,

And stand before her bare of head;

If she be hungry, she may eat

His last remaining bit of bread.

She'll find those splendid arms and strong

Quick to assist her, tenderly,

And they will guard her from all wrong

Because of me.

I miss his thoughtful, loving care;

I miss his smile these dreary days;

But should he meet a mother there,

Helpless and lost in war's grim maze,

She need not fear to take his arm,

As though she'd reared him at her knee;

My son will shield her from all harm

Because of me.

A Father's Tribute

I don't know what they'll put him at, or what

his post may be;

I cannot guess the task that waits for him across

the sea,

But I have known him through the years, and

when there's work to do,

I know he'll meet his duty well, I'll swear that

he'll be true.

I sometimes fear that he may die, but never that

he'll shirk;

If death shall want him death must go and take

him at his work;

This splendid sacrifice he makes is filled with

terrors grim,

And I have many thoughts of fear, but not one

fear of him.

The foe may rob my life of joy, the foe may

take my all,

And desolate my days shall be if he shall have to

fall.

But this I know, whate'er may be the grief that

I must face,

Upon his record there will be no blemish of

disgrace.

His days have all been splendid days, there lies

no broken trust

Along the pathway of his youth to molder in

the dust;

Honor and truth have marked his ways, in him

I can be glad;

He is as fine and true a son as ever a father had.

Runner McGee

(Who had "Return if Possible" Orders.)

"You've heard a good deal of the telephone

wires," he said as we sat at our ease,

And talked of the struggle that's taking men's

lives in these terrible days o'er the seas,

"But I've been through the thick of the thing

and I know when a battle's begun,

It isn't the phone you depend on for help. It's

the legs of a boy who can run.

"It isn't because of the phone that I'm here.

To-day you are talking to me

Because of the grit and the pluck of a boy. His

title was Runner McGee.

We were up to our dead line an' fighting alone;

some plan had miscarried, I guess,

And the help we were promised had failed to

arrive. We were showing all signs of

distress.

"Our curtain of fire was ahead of us still, an'

theirs was behind us an' thick,

An' there wasn't a thing we could do for ourselves—the

few of us left had to stick.

You haven't much chance to get central an' talk

on the phone to the music of guns;

Gettin' word to the chief is a matter right then

that is up to the fellow who runs.

"I'd sent four of 'em back with the R. I. P.

sign, which means to return if you can,

But none of 'em got through the curtain of fire;

my hurry call died with the man.

Then Runner McGee said he'd try to get through.

I hated to order the kid

On his mission of death; thought he'd never get

by, but somehow or other he did.

"Yes, he's dead. Died an hour after bringing

us word that the chief was aware of our plight,

An' for us to hang on to the ditch that we held;

the reserves would relieve us at night.

Then we stuck to our trench an' we stuck to our

guns; you know how you'll fight when you know

That new strength is coming to fill up the gaps.

There's heart in the force of your blow.

"It wasn't till later I got all the facts. They

wanted McGee to remain.

They begged him to stay. He had cheated death

once an' was foolish to try it again.

'R. I. P. are my orders,' he answered them all,

'an' back to the boys I must go;

Four of us died comin' out with the news. It

will help them to know that you know.'"

The Girl He Left Behind

We used to think her frivolous—you know how

parents are,

A little quick to see the faults and petty flaws

that mar

The girl their son is fond of and may choose

to make his wife,

A little overjealous of the one who'd share his

life;

But the girl he left behind him when he bravely

marched away

Has blossomed into beauty that we see and need

to-day.

She was with us at the depot, and we turned our

backs a-while,

And her eyes were sad and misty, though she

tried her best to smile.

Then she put her arm round mother, and it

seemed to me as though

They just grew to love each other, for they

shared a common woe.

Now she often comes to see us, and it seems

to me we find

A heap of solid comfort in the girl he left behind.

"She's so sensible and gentle," mother said last

night to me,

"The kind of girl I've often wished and prayed

his wife would be.

And I like to have her near us, for she understands

my sighs

And I see my brave boy smiling when I look into

her eyes."

Now the presence of his sweetheart seems to fill

our home with joy.

She's no longer young and flighty—she's the

girl who loves our boy.

A Patriotic Creed

To serve my country day by day

At any humble post I may;

To honor and respect her Flag,

To live the traits of which I brag;

To be American in deed

As well as in my printed creed.

To stand for truth and honest toil,

To till my little patch of soil

And keep in mind the debt I owe

To them who died that I might know

My country, prosperous and free,

And passed this heritage to me.

I must always in trouble's hour

Be guided by the men in power;

For God and country I must live,

My best for God and country give;

No act of mine that men may scan

Must shame the name American.

To do my best and play my part,

American in mind and heart;

To serve the flag and bravely stand

To guard the glory of my land;

To be American in deed,

God grant me strength to keep this creed.

His Room

His room is as it used to be

Before he went away,

The walls still keep the pennants he

Brought home but yesterday.

The picture of his baseball team

Still holds its favored spot,

And oh, it seems a dreadful dream

This age of shell and shot!

His golf clubs in the corner stand;

His tennis racket, too,

That once the pressure of his hand

In times of laughter knew

Is in the place it long has kept

For us to look upon.

The room is as it was, except

The boy, himself, has gone.

The pictures of his girls are here,

Still smiling as of yore,

And everything that he held dear

Is treasured as before.

Into his room his mother goes

As usual, day by day,

And cares for it, although she knows

Our boy is far away.

We keep it as he left it, when

He bade us all good-bye,

Though I confess that, now and then,

We view it with a sigh.

For never night shall thrill with joy

Nor day be free from gloom

Until once more our soldier boy

Shall occupy his room.

Envy

It's a bigger thing you're doing than the most of us have done;

We have lived the days of pleasure; now the gray days have begun,

And upon your manly shoulders fall the burdens of the strife;

Yours must be the sacrifices of the trial time of life.

Oh, I don't know how to say it, but I'll never think of you

Without wishing I were sharing in the work you have to do.

I have never known a moment that was fraught with real care,

Save the hurts and griefs of sorrow that all mortals have to bear;

With the gay and smiling marchers I have tramped on pleasant ways,

And have paid with feeble service for the gladness of my days.

But to you has come a summons, yours are days of sacrifice,

And for all life has of sweetness you must pay a bitter price.

Men have fought and died before me, men must fight and die to-day,

I have merely taken pleasures for which others had to pay;

I have been a man of laughter, there's no path my feet have made,

I have merely been a marcher in life's gaudy dress parade.

But you wear the garb of service, you have splendid deeds to do,

You shall sound the depths of manhood, and my boy, I envy you.

For Your Boy and Mine

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall rest,

But that our children after us shall know life at its best;

For all we care about ourselves—a crust of bread or two,

A place to sleep and clothes to wear is all that we'd pursue.

We'd tramp the world on sunny days, both light of heart and mind,

And give no thought to days to come or days we leave behind.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall play,

But that our children after us shall tread a merry way.

We brave the toil of life for them, for them we clamber high,

And if 'twould spare them hurt and pain, for them we'd gladly die.

If we had but ourselves to serve, we'd quit the ways of pride

And with the simplest joys of earth we'd all be satisfied.

The best for them is what we dream. Our little girls and boys

Must know the finest life can give of comforts and of joys.

They must be shielded well from woe and kept secure from care,

And if we could, upon our backs, their burdens we would bear.

And so once more we rise to-day to face the battle zone

That those who follow us may know the Flag that we have known.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall live;

The greatest joys we hope to claim are those that we shall give.

We face the heat and strife of life, its battle and its toil

That those who follow us may know the best of freedom's soil.

And if we knew that by our death we'd keep that flag on high,

For your boy and my boy, how gladly we would die.

Soldierly

The glory of a soldier—and a soldier's not a saint—

Is the way he does his duty without grumbling or complaint;

His work's not always pleasant, but he does it rain or shine,

And he grabs a bit of glory when he's fighting in the line;

But the lesson that he teaches every day to me an' you

Is the way to do a duty that we do not like to do.

Any sort o' chap can whistle when his work is mostly fun;

A hundred want the pleasant jobs to every sturdy one

That'll grab the dreary duty an' the mean an' lowly task,

Or the drab an' cheerless service that life often has to ask;

But somebody has to do it, an' the test of me an' you

Is the way we face the labor that we do not like to do.

Now, it isn't very pleasant standin' guard out in the rain

But it's in the line o' duty, an' no soldier will complain,

An' there isn't any soldier but what sometimes hates his work

When the dress parade is over, an' perhaps he'd like to shirk,

But he's there to follow orders, not to pick an' choose his post,

An' he sometimes shines the finest at the job he hates the most.

Let's be soldiers in the struggle, let's be loyal through and through;

Life is going to give us duties that perhaps we'll hate to do.

There'll be little sacrifices that we will not like to make,

There'll be many tasks unpleasant that will fall to us to take.

An' although we all would rather do the work that brings applause,

Let's forget our whims and fancies an' just labor for the cause.

The Alarm

Get off your downy cots of ease,

There's work that must be done.

Great danger's riding on the seas.

The storm is coming on.

Don't think that it will quickly pass.

Who smiles at distant fate,

And waits until it strikes, alas!

Has roused himself too late.

Who thinks the fight will end before

The need of him arrives,

Is lengthening this brutal war

And costing many lives.

For over us that storm shall break

Ere many weeks have fled,

And we shall pay for our mistake

In fields of mangled dead.

Be ready when the foe shall near,

Be there to strike him hard;

Let us, though he be miles from here,

Be standing now on guard.

To-morrow's victories won't be won

By pluck that we display

To-morrow when the foe comes on,

But by our work to-day.

The Boy Enlists

His mother's eyes are saddened, and her cheeks

are stained with tears,

And I'm facing now the struggle that I've

dreaded through the years;

For the boy that was our baby has been changed

into a man.

He's enlisted in the army as a true American.

He held her for a moment in his arms before

he spoke,

And I watched him as he kissed her, and it

seemed to me I'd choke,

For I knew just what was coming, and I knew

just what he'd done!

'Another little mother had a soldier for a son.

When we'd pulled ourselves together, and the

first quick tears had dried,

We could see his eyes were blazing with the fire

of manly pride;

We could see his head was higher than it ever

was before,

For we had a man to cherish, and our baby was

no more.

Oh, I don't know how to say it! With the sorrow

comes the joy

That there isn't any coward in the make-up of

our boy.

And with pride our hearts are swelling, though

with grief they're also hit,

For the boy that was our baby has stepped

forth to do his bit,

The Mother Faith

Little mother, life's adventure calls your boy away,

Yet he will return to you on some brighter day;

Dry your tears and cease to sigh, keep your mother smile,

Brave and strong he will come back in a little while.

Little mother, heed them not—they who preach despair—

You shall have your boy again, brave and oh, so fair!

Life has need of him to-day, but with victory won,

Safely life shall bring to you once again your son.

Little mother, keep the faith: not to death he goes;

Share with him the joy of worth that your soldier knows.

He is giving to the Flag all that man can give,

And if you believe he will, surely he will live.

Little mother, through the night of his absence long,

Never cease to think of him—brave and well and strong;

You shall know his kiss again, you shall see his smile,

For your boy shall come to you in a little while.

Thoughts of a Soldier

Since men with life must purchase life

And some must die that more may live,

Unto the Great Cashier of strife

A fine accounting let me give.

Perhaps to-morrow I shall stand

Before his cage, prepared to buy

New splendor for my native land:

Oh, God, then bravely let me die!

If after I shall fall, shall rise

A fairer land than I have known,

I shall not grudge my sacrifice,

Although I pay the price alone.

If still more beautiful to see

The Stars and Stripes o'er men shall wave

And finer shall my country be,

To-morrow let me find my grave.

To-night life seems so fair and sweet,

Yet tyranny is stalking here,

And hate and lust and foul deceit

Hang heavy on the atmosphere.

Injustice seeks to throttle right,

And laughter's stifled to a sigh.

If death can take so great a blight

From human lives, then let me die.

If death must be the cost of life,

And freedom's terms are human souls,

Into the thickest of the strife

Then let me go to pay the tolls.

I would enrich my native land,

New splendor to her flag I'd give,

If where I fall shall freedom stand,

And where I die shall freedom live.

To-morrow death with me may trade;

Let me not quibble o'er the price;

But may I, once the bargain's made,

With courage meet the sacrifice.

If happiness for ages long

My little term of life can buy,

God, for my country make me strong;

To-morrow let me bravely die.

The Flag on the Farm

We've raised a flagpole on the farm

And flung Old Glory to the sky,

And it's another touch of charm

That seems to cheer the passer-by,

But more than that, no matter where

We're laboring in wood and field,

We turn and see it in the air,

Our promise of a greater yield.

It whispers to us all day long

From dawn to dusk: "Be true, be strong;

Who falters now with plough or hoe

Gives comfort to his country's foe."

It seems to me I've never tried

To do so much about the place,

Nor been so slow to come inside,

But since I've got the Flag to face,

Each night when I come home to rest

I feel that I must look up there

And say: "Old Flag, I've done my best,

To-day I've tried to do my share."

And sometimes, just to catch the breeze,

I stop my work, and o'er the trees

Old Glory fairly shouts my way:

"You're shirking far too much to-day!"

The help have caught the spirit, too;

The hired man takes off his cap

Before the old red, white and blue,

Then to the horses says: "Giddap!"

And starting bravely to the field

He tells the milkmaid by the door:

"We're going to make these acres yield

More than they've ever done before."

She smiles to hear his gallant brag,

Then drops a curtsey to the Flag,

And in her eyes there seems to shine

A patriotism that is fine.

'We've raised a flagpole on the farm

And flung Old Glory to the sky,

We're far removed from war's alarm,

But courage here is running high.

We're doing things we never dreamed

We'd ever find the time to do;

Deeds that impossible once seemed

Each morning now we hurry through.

The Flag now waves above our toil

And sheds its glory on the soil,

And boy and man look up to it

As if to say: "I'll do my bit!"

The Mother on the Sidewalk

The mother on the sidewalk as the troops are marching by

Is the mother of Old Glory that is waving in the sky.

Men have fought to keep it splendid, men have died to keep it bright,

But that flag was born of woman and her sufferings day and night;

'Tis her sacrifice has made it, and once more we ought to pray

For the brave and loyal mother of the boy that goes away.

There are days of grief before her, there are hours that she will weep,

There are nights of anxious waiting when her fear will banish sleep;

She has heard her country calling and has risen to the test,

And has placed upon the altar of the nation's need, her best.

And no man shall ever surfer in the turmoil of the fray

The anguish of the mother of the boy who goes away.

You may boast men's deeds of glory, you may tell their courage great,

But to die is easier service than alone to sit and wait,

And I hail the little mother, with the tear-stained face and grave

Who has given the Flag a soldier—she's the bravest of the brave.

And that banner we are proud of, with its red and blue and white

Is a lasting tribute holy to all mothers' love of right.

The Big Deeds

We are done with little thinking and we're done with little deeds,

We are done with petty conduct and we're done with narrow creeds;

We have grown to men and women, and we've noble work to do,

And to-day we are a people with a larger point of view.

In a big way we must labor, if our Flag shall always fly.

In a big way some must suffer, in a big way some must die.

There must be no little dreaming in the visions that we see,

There must be no selfish planning in the joys that are to be;

'We have set our faces eastwards to the rising of the sun

That shall light a better nation, and there's big work to be done.

And the petty souls and narrow, seeking only selfish gain,

Shall be vanquished by the toilers big enough to suffer pain.

It's a big task we have taken; 'tis for others we must fight.

We must see our duty clearly in a white and shining light;

We must quit our little circles where we've moved in little ways,

And work, as men and women, for the bigger, better days.

We must quit our selfish thinking and our narrow views and creeds.

And as people, big and splendid, we must do the bigger deeds.

The Wrist Watch Man

He is marching dusty highways and he's riding bitter trails,

His eyes are clear and shining and his muscles hard as nails.

He is wearing Yankee khaki and a healthy coat of tan,

And the chap that we are backing is the Wrist Watch Man.

He's no parlor dude, a-prancing, he's no puny pacifist,

And it's not for affectation there's a watch upon his wrist.

He's a fine two-fisted scrapper, he is pure American,

And the backbone of the nation is the Wrist Watch Man.

He is marching with a rifle, he is digging in a trench,

He is swapping English phrases with a poilu for his French;

You will find him in the navy doing anything he can,

For at every post of duty is the Wrist Watch Man.

Oh, the time was that we chuckled at the soft and flabby chap

Who wore a little wrist watch that was fastened with a strap.

But the chuckles all have vanished, and with glory now we scan

The courage and the splendor of the Wrist Watch Man.

He is not the man we laughed at, not the one who won our jeers,

He's the man that we are proud of, he's the man that owns our cheers;

He's the finest of the finest, he's the bravest of the clan,

And I pray for God's protection for our Wrist Watch Man.

Follow the Flag

Aye, we will follow the Flag

Wherever she goes,

Into the tropic sun,

Into the northern snows;

Go where the guns ring out

Scattering steel and lead,

Painting the hills with blood,

Strewing the fields with dead.

But in each heart must be,

And back of each bitter gun,

Love for the best in life

After the fighting's done.

Aye, we will follow the Flag

Into benighted lands,

Brave in the faith for which,

Proudly, our banner stands.

Life for her life we'll pay,

Blood for her blood we'll give,

Fighting, but not to kill,

Save that the best shall live.

But, when the cannon's roar

Dies in a hymn of peace,

Justice and truth must reign,

Power of the brute must cease.

Aye, we will follow the Flag,

Gladly her work we'll do,

Banishing wrongs of old,

Founding the truth anew.

What though our guns must speak,

What though brave men must die,

Ages of truth to come

All this shall justify.

Men in the charms of peace,

Basking in Freedom's sun,

Some day shall bless our Flag

After our work is done.

Aye, we will follow the Flag

Wherever she goes,

Into the tropic sun,

Into the northern snows.

Fearlessly, on we'll go

Into the cruel strife,

Gladly the few shall die,

Winning for many, life.

Tyranny's wrongs must cease,

Brutes must no longer brag,

This is our work on earth,

So we will follow the Flag.

We've Had a Letter From the Boy

We've had a letter from the boy,

And oh, the gladness and the joy