Chapter 5
Forgotten petty difference now, The larger purpose glows, The storm is here, a common fear Its deadly lightning shows. The Ship of State must bear us all And danger makes us kin, As one, we all shall rise or fall, So shall we strive to win.
Our banner's flying at the mast, Our course lies straight ahead; The ocean's trough is deep and rough, The waves are stained with red. The bond of danger tighter grows, We serve a common plan; Send o'er the sea the word that we Are all American.
One hundred million sturdy souls Once more united stand, As one, you will find them all behind The banner of our land. And side by side they work to-day In silken garb or rag, And once again our troops of men Are brothers of the flag.
And from the storm that hovers low, And from the angry sea Where dangers lurk and hate's at work. Shall come new victory. The flag shall know not race nor creed, Nor different bands of men; A people strong round it shall throng To ne'er divide again.
April Thoughts
Listen to the laughter of the brook that's racin' by! Listen to the chatter of the black-birds on the fence! Stand an' see the beauties of the blue that's in the sky-- Then ask of God why mortals haven't any better sense Than to quarrel an' to battle Where the guns an' cannon rattle An' to slaughter one another an' to fill the world with hate. God brings the buds to blossom Where the gentle breezes toss 'em An' the soul is blind to beauty that takes anger for its mate.
Listen to the singin' of the robins in the trees! See the sunbeams flashin' where they're mirrored by the stream! Hear the drowsy buzzin' of the honey-seekin' bees, Then draw a little closer to your God the while you dream. When the world is dressed to cheer you Don't you feel Him standin' near you? When your soul drinks in the beauty of the wonders in His plan, An' you've put away your passions, Don't you think the works He fashions In their beauty an' their bigness mock the littleness of man?
Oh, I never walk an orchard nor a field with daisies strewn, An' I never stand bare-headed gazin' everywhere about At the living joys around me, be it morning, night or noon, But I ask God to forgive me that I ever held a doubt. Surely men must walk in blindness, With the whole world tuned to kindness, An' all dumb an' feathered creatures fairly bubblin' o'er with glee To devote themselves to madness That can only end in sadness An' to think that they are being what God put them here to be.
The Chaplain
He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and he Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see. He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind, But he had a man's religion and he had a strong man's mind, And he heard the call to duty, and he quit his church and went, And he bravely tramped right with 'em everywhere the boys were sent.
He put aside his broadcloth and he put the khaki on; Said he'd come to be a soldier and was going to live like one. Then he refereed the prize fights that the boys pulled off at night, And if no one else was handy he'd put on the gloves and fight. He wasn't there a fortnight ere he saw the soldiers' needs, And he said: "I'm done with preaching; this is now the time for deeds."
He learned the sound of shrapnel, he could tell the size of shell From the shriek it make above him, and he knew just where it fell. In the front line trench he labored, and he knew the feel of mud, And he didn't run from danger and he wasn't scared of blood. He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered them with his jokes, And he never made a visit without passing round the smokes.
Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt beside a lad Who was "going west" right speedy, and they both seemed mighty glad, 'Cause he held the boy's hand tighter, and he smiled and whispered low, "Now you needn't fear the journey; over there with you I'll go." And they both passed out together, arm in arm I think they went. He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the boys were sent.
My Part
I may never be a hero, I am past the limit now, There are pencil marks of silver Time has left upon my brow; I shall win no service medals, I shall hear no cannons' roar, I shall never fight a battle higher up than eagles soar, But I hope my children's children may recall my name with pride As a man who never whimpered when his soul was being tried.
For the fighting and the dying for the everlasting truth Are the labors designated for the strongest of our youth, And the man that's nearing forty isn't asked to march away, For there is no place in battle for the head that's turning gray. His test is one of patience till the bitter work is done, He must back his country's leaders till the victory is won.
When this bitter time is ended I don't want to have it said That I faltered in my courage and I never looked ahead, I don't want it told I added to the burdens and the woe, By preaching dismal doctrines that were cheering to the foe; I want my children's children to respect me and to find That my soul was out there fighting, though my body stayed behind.
When this cruel test is over and the boys come back from France I'd not have them say I hindered for a moment their advance; That they found their duty harder than 'twas needful it should be Because of the complaining of a lot of men like me. Though I'll win no hero's medals and deserve no wild applause, I want to be of service, not a hindrance to the cause.
The Call
Some will heed the call to arms, But all must heed the call to grit; The dreamers on the distant farms Must rally now to do their bit. The whirring lathes in factories great Will sing the martial songs of strife; Upon the emery wheel of fate We're grinding now the nation's life.
The call is not alone to guns, This is not but a battle test; The world has summoned free men's sons In every field to do their best. The call has come to every man To reach the summit of his powers; To stand to service where he can; A mighty duty now is ours.
We must be stalwarts in the field Where peace has always kept her throne, No door against the need is sealed, No man to-day can live alone. The young apprentice at the bench, The wise inventor, old and gray, Serve with the soldier in the trench, All warriors for the better day.
Oh, man of science, unto you The call for service now has come! Mechanic, banker, lawyer, too, Have you not heard the stirring drum? Oh, humble digger in the ditch, Bend to your spade and do your best, And prove America is rich In manhood fine for every test.
Each man beneath the starry flag Must live his noblest through the strife If tyranny is not to drag Into the mire the best of life. Though some will wear our uniform, We face to-day a common fate And all must bravely breast the storm And heed the call for courage great.
Thanksgiving
For strength to face the battle's might, For men that dare to die for right, For hearts above the lure of gold And fortune's soft and pleasant way, For courage of our days of old, Great God of All, we kneel and pray.
We thank Thee for our splendid youth. Who fight for liberty and truth, Within whose breasts there glows anew The glory of the altar fires Which our heroic fathers knew-- God make them worthy of their sires!
We thank Thee for our mothers fair Who through the sorrows they must bear Still smile, and give their hearts to woe, Yet bravely heed the day's command-- That mothers, yet to be, may know A free and glorious motherland.
Oh, God, we thank Thee for the skies Where our flag now in glory flies! We thank Thee that no love of gain Is leading us, but that we fight To keep our banner free from stain And that we die for what is right.
Oh, God, we thank Thee that we may Lift up our eyes to Thee to-day; We thank Thee we can face this test With honor and a spotless name, And that we serve a world distressed Unselfishly and free from shame.
A Patriotic Wish
I'd like to be the sort of man the flag could boast about; I'd like to be the sort of man it cannot live without; I'd like to be the type of man That really is American: The head-erect and shoulders-square, Clean-minded fellow, just and fair, That all men picture when they see The glorious banner of the free.
I'd like to be the sort of man the flag now typifies, The kind of man we really want the flag to symbolize; The loyal brother to a trust, The big, unselfish soul and just, The friend of every man oppressed, The strong support of all that's best-- The sturdy chap the banner's meant, Where'er it flies, to represent.
I'd like to be the sort of man the flag's supposed to mean, The man that all in fancy see, wherever it is seen; The chap that's ready for a fight Whenever there's a wrong to right, The friend in every time of need, The doer of the daring deed, The clean and generous handed man That is a real American.
A Patriot
It's funny when a feller wants to do his little bit, And wants to wear a uniform and lug a soldier's kit, And ain't afraid of submarines nor mines that fill the sea, They will not let him go along to fight for liberty They make him stay at home and be his mother's darling pet, But you can bet there'll come a time when they will want me yet.
I want to serve the Stars and Stripes, I want to go and fight, I want to lick the Kaiser good, and do the job up right. I know the way to use _a_ gun and I can dig a trench And I would like to go and help the English and the French. But no, they say, you cannot march away to stirring drums; Be mother's angel boy at home; stay there and twirl your thumbs.
I've read about the daring boys that fight up in the sky; It seems to me that that must be a splendid way to die. I'd like to drive an aeroplane and prove my courage grim And get above a German there and drop a bomb on him, But they won't let me go along to help the latest drive; They say my mother needs me here because I'm only five.
Memorial Day
The finest tribute we can pay Unto our hero dead to-day, Is not a rose wreath, white and red, In memory of the blood they shed; It is to stand beside each mound, Each couch of consecrated ground, And pledge ourselves as warriors true Unto the work they died to do.
Into God's valleys where they lie At rest, beneath the open sky, Triumphant now, o'er every foe, As living tributes let us go. No wreath of rose or immortelles Or spoken word or tolling bells Will do to-day, unless we give Our pledge that liberty shall live.
Our hearts must be the roses red We place above our hero dead; To-day beside their graves we must Renew allegiance to their trust; Must bare our heads and humbly say We hold the Flag as dear as they, And stand, as once they stood, to die To keep the Stars and Stripes on high.
The finest tribute we can pay Unto our hero dead to-day Is not of speech or roses red, But living, throbbing hearts instead That shall renew the pledge they sealed With death upon the battlefield: That freedom's flag shall bear no stain And free men wear no tyrant's chain.
The Soldier on Crutches
He came down the stairs on the laughter-filled grill Where patriots were eating and drinking their fill, The tap of his crutch on the marble of white Caught my ear as I sat all alone there that night. I turned--and a soldier my eyes fell upon, He had fought for his country, and one leg was gone!
As he entered a silence fell over the place; Every eye in the room was turned up to his face. His head was up high and his eyes seemed aflame With a wonderful light, and he laughed as he came. He was young--not yet thirty--yet never he made One sign of regret for the price he had paid.
One moment before this young soldier came in I had caught bits of speech in the clatter and din From the fine men about me in life's dress parade Who were boasting the cash sacrifices they'd made; And I'd thought of my own paltry service with pride, When I turned and that hero of battle I spied.
I shall never forget the hot flushes of shame That rushed to my cheeks as that young fellow came. He was cheerful and smiling and clear-eyed and fine And out of his face golden light seemed to shine. And I thought as he passed me on crutches: "How small Are the gifts that I make if I don't give my all."
Some day in the future in many a place More soldiers just like him we'll all have to face. We must sit with them, talk with them, laugh with them, too, With the signs of their service forever in view And this was my thought as I looked at him then --Oh, God! make me worthy to stand with such men.
The Friendly Greeting
Oh, we have friends in England, and we have friends in France, And should we have to travel there through some strange circumstance, Undaunted we should sail away, and gladly should we go, Because awaiting us would be somebody that we know.
Full many a journey here we make where countless strangers roam, Yet everywhere our faces turn we find a friend from home. Oh, we have friends in distant towns, and friends 'neath foreign skies, And yet we think of him as lost whene'er a loved one dies.
Yet he has merely traveled on, as many a friend must do; Within a distant city fair he waits for me and you, And when shall come our time to make that journey through the gloam, To welcome us he will be there, the smiling friend from home.
We Need a Few More Optimists
We need a few more optimists, The kind that double up their fists And set their jaws, determined-like, A blow at infamy to strike. Not smiling men, who drift along And compromise with every wrong; Not grinning optimists who cry That right was never born to die, But optimists who'll fight to give The truth an honest chance to live.
We need a few more optimists For places in our fighting lists, The kind of hopeful men who make Real sacrifice for freedom's sake; The optimist, with purpose strong, Who stands to battle every wrong, Takes off his coat, and buckles in The better joys of earth to win! The optimist who worries lest The vile should overthrow the best.
We need a few more optimists, The brave of heart that long resists The force of Hate and Greed and lust And keeps in God and man his trust, Believing, as he makes his fight That everything will end all right-- Yet through the dreary days and nights Unfalteringly serves and fights, And helps to gain the joys which he Believes are some day sure to be.
We need a few more optimists Of iron hearts and sturdy wrists; Not optimists who smugly smile And preach that in a little while The clouds will fade before the sun, But cheerful men who'll bear a gun, And hopeful men, of courage stout, Who'll see disaster round about And yet will keep their faith, and fight, And gain the victory for right.
Taking His Place
He's doing double duty now; Time's silver gleams upon his brow, And there are lines upon his face Which only passing years can trace. And yet he's turned back many a page Long written in the book of age, For since their boy has marched away, This kindly father, growing gray, Is doing for the mother true The many things the boy would do.
Just as the son came home each night With youthful step and eyes alight, So he returns, and with a shout Of greeting puts her grief to rout. He says that she shall never miss The pleasure of that evening kiss, And with strong arms and manner brave He simulates the hug _he_ gave, And loves her, when the day is done, Both as a husband and a son.
His laugh has caught a clearer ring; His step has claimed the old-time swing, And though _his_ absence hurts him, too, The bravest thing that he can do Is just to try to take _his_ place And keep the smiles on mother's face. So, merrily he jests at night-- Tells her with all a boy's delight Of what has happened in the town, And thus keeps melancholy down.
Her letters breathe of hope and cheer; No note of gloom she sends from here, And as her husband reads at night The many messages she writes, He chuckles o'er the closing line. She's failed his secret to divine-- "When you get home," she tells the lad, "You'll scarcely know your doting dad; Although his hair is turning gray, He seems more like a boy each day."
Christmas, 1918
They give their all, this Christmastide, that peace on earth shall reign; Upon the snows of Flanders now, brave blood has left its stain; With ribbons red we deck our gifts; theirs bear the red of pain.
They give their lives that joy shall live and little children play; They pass that all that makes for peace shall not be swept away; They die that children yet unborn shall have their Christmas Day.
Come! deck the home with holly wreaths and make this Christmas glow, And let Old Glory wave above the bough of mistletoe! Come! keep alive the faith of them who sleep 'neath Flanders snow.
Ye brave of heart who dwell at home, make merry now a-while; The world has need of Christmas cheer its sorrows to beguile; And blest is he whose love can light grief's corners with a smile.
Ring out once more, sweet Christmas bells, your message to the sky, Proclaim in golden tones again to every passer-by That peace shall rule the lands of earth, and only war shall die.
Let love's sweet tenderness relieve war's cruel crimson clutch, Send forth the Christmas spirit, every troubled heart to touch; Blest will be all we do for them who do for us so much.
The New Year
Come you with dangers to fright us? or hazards to try out our souls? Then may you find us undaunted; determined to get to our goals. Now, white are the pages you bring us to fill with the tales of our deeds, And I pray we shall square at the finish the work of our lives with our creeds.
Oh, child of a year, do you wonder what here upon earth you shall find? America shows you a people united in purpose and mind; Whatever you bring us of danger, whatever you hold to affright, I pray that we never shall lower our standards of truth and of right.
You find us a people united, full pledged to the work of the world, To banish the despot and tyrant, our banner in battle's unfurled; And here to a world that is bleeding and weary and heartsick you come, Whatever you've brought us of duty--we'll answer the call of your drum.
We may weep in our grief and our sorrows, we may bend 'neath the might of the blow, But never our courage shall falter, and never we'll run from the foe. We know not how troubled our pathways shall be nor how sorely beset, But I pray we shall cling to our honor as men and never our purpose forget.
Our Duty to Our Flag
Less hate and greed Is what we need And more of service true; More men to love The flag above And keep it first in view.
Less boast and brag About the flag, More faith in what it means; More heads erect, More self-respect, Less talk of war machines.
The time to fight To keep it bright Is not along the way, Nor 'cross the foam, But here at home Within ourselves--to-day.
'Tis we must love That flag above With all our might and main; For from our hands-- Not distant lands-- Shall come dishonor's stain.
If that flag be Dishonored, we Have done it---not the foe; If it shall fall, We, first of all, Shall have to strike the blow.
The Unsettled Scores
The men are talking peace at 'ome, but 'ere we're talking fight, There's many a little debt we've got to square; A sniper sent a bullet through my bunkie's 'ead last night, And 'is body's lying somewhere h'over there.
Oh, we 'ear a lot of rumors that the war is h'almost through But Hi'm thinking that it's only arf begun; Every soldier in the trenches has a little debt that's due And Hi'm telling you it's not a money one.
We 'ave 'eard the bullets whistle and we've 'card the shrapnel sing And we've listened to a dying comrade's pleas, And we've 'eard about the comfort that the days of peace will bring, But we've debts that can't be settled h'over seas.
They that 'aven't slept in trenches, 'aven't brothered with the worms, 'Aven't 'ad a bunkie slaughtered at their side, May some day get together and arrange some sort of terms, But it isn't likely we'll be satisfied.
There are debts we want to settle, 'and to 'and, and face to face, There are one or two Hi've promised that Hi'd square; And Hi cannot 'old my 'ead up, 'ere or in the other place, Till Hi've settled for my bunkie, lying there.
Warriors
We all are warriors with sin. Crusading knights, we come to earth With spotless plumes and shining shields to joust with foes and prove our worth. The world is but a battlefield where strong and weak men fill the lists, And some make war with humble prayers, and some with swords and some with fists. And some for pleasure or for peace forsake their purposes and goals And barter for the scarlet joys of ease and pomp, their knightly souls.
We're all enlisted soldiers here, in service for the term called life And each of us in some grim way must bear his portion of the strife. Temptations everywhere assail. Men do not rise by fearing sin, Nor he who keeps within his tent, unharmed, unscratched, the crown shall win. When wrongs are trampling mortals down and rank injustice stalks about, Real manhood to the battle flies, and dies or puts the foes to rout.
'Tis not the new and shining blade that marks the soldier of the field, His glory is his broken sword, his pride the scars upon his shield; The crimson stains that sin has left upon his soul are tongues that speak The victory of new found strength by one who yesterday was weak. And meaningless the spotless plume, the shining blade that goes through life And quits this naming battlefield without one evidence of strife.