Chapter 2

"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 It brought to us! We read it o'er I'd say a dozen times or more. We laughed until the teardrops fell At all the fun he had to tell. He's in the navy, wearing blue, And everything is all so new That he can see in youthful style The funny things to make us smile.

He's working hard! Between the lines We gather that. The brass he shines Without complaining, and the food He gets to eat is very crude. And yet he laughs at all his chores. He says the maid who scrubs our floors Will have to quit when he returns Unless a better way she learns. "I've got it on the fairer sex," Says he, "since I am swabbing decks."

"A sailor's life, dear Mom," writes he, "Is not the life you picked for me. And yet I'm getting fat and strong And learning as I go along That any life a man can find Is apt to grow to be a grind Unless a fellow has the wit To see the brighter side of it. Don't worry for your sailor son; He sleeps well when his work is done."

We've had a letter from the boy, And oh, the gladness and the joy It brought to us! 'Twas good to know That he is facing duty so. Between the lines that he had penned His mother's bitter fears to end, I saw his manhood glowing bright, And now I know his heart is right. Behind the laughter I could see My boy's the man I'd hoped he'd be.

Exempt

They have said you needn't go to the front to face the foe; They have left you with jour women and your children safe at home; They have spared you from the crash of the murderous guns that flash And the horrors and the madness and the death across the foam. But it's your fight, just the same, and your country still must claim The splendor of your manhood and the best that you can do; In a thousand different ways through the dark and troubled days, You must stand behind the nation that has been so good to you.

You're exempt from shot and shell, from the havoc and the hell That have robbed the world of gladness; you have missed the sterner fate Of the brave young men and fine, that are falling into line, You may stay among your children who are swinging on the gate. But you're not exempt from love of the Flag that flies above, You've a greater obligation to your country to be true; You must work from day to day in a bigger, better way For the glory of the nation that has been so good to you.

You are not exempt from trial, from long days of self-denial, From devotion to your homeland and from courage in the test. You are not exempt from giving to your country's needs and living As a citizen and soldier--an example of the best. You've a harder task before you than the boys who're fighting for you, You must match their splendid courage and devotion through and through; You must prove by fine endeavor, and by standing constant ever That you're worthy of the country that has been so good to you.

Duty

We know not where the path may lead nor what the end may be, The clouds are dark above us now, the future none can see, And yet when all the storms have passed, and cannons cease to roar, We shall be prouder of our flag than we have been before.

We could not longer idle stay, spectators of a wrong, The weak were crying out for help against oppression strong; And though we pray we may be spared the bitterness of strife, 'Twere better that we die than live the coward's feeble life.

We could not longer silent sit, our glory at an end, And blind ourselves unto the wrongs committed by a friend; We must be tolerant with all, yet in these days of hate, Some things have happened that it would be shame to tolerate.

And now we stand before the world, erect and calm and grave, And speak the words that decency must rule the land and wave; Into the chaos of despair we fling ourselves to-day As guardians of a precious trust hate must not sweep away.

We must rejoice, if we are men, not weak and soft of heart That we have heeded duty's call, and taken up our part. And when at last sweet peace shall come, and all the strife is o'er, We shall be prouder of our flag than we have been before,

A Prayer