Class IESj^_§^^2^ 
 
 CCPffilGHT DEPOSrn 
 
POLM5 OF PATRIOTISM 
 
POLM5 OF Patriotism 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HARTLEY HOLCOMB 
 
 (Author of Old Mission Rhymes) 
 
 1918 
 
 COMMERCIAL PRINTING HOU5L 
 LOS ANGLLL5. CAL. 
 

 COPYRIGHTED 
 
 1918 
 
 BY WILLIAM HARTLEY HOLCOMB 
 
 JUN -8 1918 
 
 h I 
 
 1^ 
 
m 
 
 Dedication 
 
 FFECTIONATELY dedicated to 
 that sturdy, helpful army of work- 
 ers who are doing so much for Amer- 
 ica today, and who will be our heroes In 
 the years to come — the organization of 
 Boy Scouts of America. The price of 
 this little book is fixed at One Dollar, and 
 the author has arranged with the publisher, 
 that every penny received from sales of 
 this book, above the publisher's actual costs 
 of printing, binding and distribution, shall 
 be retained by and belong to the organiza- 
 tion of the Boy Scouts of America. 
 
INDEX 
 
 The Boy Scouts 13 
 
 Rest to the Hero 16 
 
 Liberty 17 
 
 Good-Bye Mother 19 
 
 Hold On, France 21 
 
 My Love is a Soldier Boy 23 
 
 The Spirit of 1918 26 
 
 "Sonny Dear" 28 
 
 The Women Knit 31 
 
 The Aegis of Our Fathers 33 
 
 Service Flags 35 
 
 At the Third Shot 37 
 
 Awake, My America 40 
 
 Honor the Uniform 42 
 
 The Burying Squad 43 
 
 A Proud Mother 44 
 
 "Tennessee" 45 
 
 March On, March On 49 
 
 Gifts 51 
 
 To Kinsmen On The Line 53 
 
 My Big Pal, "Al" 55 
 
 Unidentified 60 
 
 "Extra" 62 
 
 Army vs. Navy 63 
 
 A Woman's Reward 65 
 
 Our Navy Review 67 
 
 The Immortals 70 
 
 Courage 72 
 
 Perseverence 73 
 
 "Abe's" Victory 74 
 
 Our Responsibility Id 
 
 Discipline 78 
 
 Remember Me 79 
 
 Allan Beaumont 80 
 
The Boy Scouts 
 
 A little brown army invades our land, 
 
 Encircles about us on every hand, 
 
 Besieges our cities and countryside, 
 
 Yet, wakens our hearts with the deepest pride. 
 
 This little brown army of clean khaki suits. 
 Slouch hats, tight breeches and high legging boots. 
 Is ever patrolling in our plain sight. 
 Yet, always this army gives us delight. 
 
 It captures our cities and holds them fast — 
 Seizes each village through which It passed — 
 Holds us for ransom — the most dreaded part, 
 Yet, we pay the ransom with love from each heart. 
 
 This little brown army goes through our streets, 
 A smile and a nod to each one it meets; 
 Prepared for its duty, ready to fight. 
 Yet, this army draws sword only for Right. 
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
As soldiers were quartered in ancient Rome, 
 This little brown army picks out each home, 
 And stations therein a brave soldier boy. 
 Yet, to each household this seems to bring joy. 
 
 And this army conquered without one shot, 
 "Surrender I" We stood transfixed on the spot; 
 It ordered: "Go on about your affairs," 
 Yet, strange that this army helps in our cares. 
 
 This little brown army, know you its name? 
 Know you the password that gave It great fame? 
 Know you the spirit that slacks not, nor pouts? 
 "Service" — its password; its name, "The Boy 
 Scouts." 
 
 Brave little army that swarms through our land — 
 Dear little, dutiful, peace-loving band; 
 Touching your elbows with War's gruesome arm. 
 Yet, "doing your bit," without an alarm. 
 
 Bright little army, great patriots you — 
 
 Ever upholding the "Red, White and Blue"; 
 
 Steadfast in duty — examples you raise 
 
 For many "grown-ups" who hold back for praise. 
 
 Grand little army, accepting your drill, 
 Perchance the place of some brother to fill 
 
 [ 14 ] 
 
On that firing line in far distant France, 
 
 If Fate should decree that you take this chance. 
 
 Fine little army, at work and in play, 
 Remembering to do some good thing each day; 
 How noble, unselfish and kindly your aims 
 Compared with some "grown-ups' " much vaunted 
 claims. 
 
 Little brown army we feel quite secure, 
 Knowing your watchful eyes pry very sure 
 Into all corners where enemies hide, 
 Or death-dealing traitors slyly abide. 
 
 Best little army this world ever had, 
 Seeking out good and disapproving the bad. 
 Each day that passes brings greater renown — 
 To the sturdy "Boy Scouts" army of brown. 
 
 [ 15 ] 
 
Rest To the Hero 
 
 Fallen in battle, bravest and best — 
 Death's gentle sleep has lulled you to rest; 
 Closed are your eyes to the world-wide strife, 
 That seeks its victim in each man's life; 
 Shut are your ears to the dreadful roar 
 Of battle furies that round us pour; 
 Gone are your visions — yet, one remains — 
 *'He who gives up his life for us — GAINS." 
 
 Come bury him 'neath the tall flag pole. 
 Where the colors wave bright and true, 
 
 Red for his courage. White for his soul — 
 For his faith the Heaven-born Blue. 
 
 First in your country's cause, you would be — 
 Fighting, as you had fought, to be free; 
 Faithful in civil life, you gave all — 
 Donning your uniform, at the call; 
 Weighed not the sacrifice, you had made, 
 Thought not of home or friends — just obeyed; 
 God give our Nation men just like he. 
 That we may win our cause — LIBERTY. 
 
 Come bury him 'neath the tall flag pole. 
 Where the colors wave bright and true. 
 
 Red for his courage, White for his soul — 
 For his faith the Heaven-born Blue. 
 
 [ 16 ] 
 
Liberty 
 
 Said Patrick Henry's inspired breath: 
 "Give me Liberty, or give me death." 
 And ages down through conquering years, 
 Those potent words will smite the fears 
 Of Patriots in slave-bound lands, 
 And give them urge to break the bands ; 
 To loose the shackles that have pressed 
 With burdens on the sad distressed; 
 To water with their blood the sod 
 In holy cause, before just God. 
 
 "The battle, sir, not to the strong. 
 But to the vigilant," was his song. 
 Go bravely on — there's no retreat — 
 Submission now means base defeat; 
 Invincible to any force 
 We stand, committed to our course; 
 A just God doth o'er all preside; 
 Success will swell on rising tide, 
 And break the Tyrant's cruel power; 
 Peace will be born in that same hour. 
 
 [ 17 ] 
 
"Peace, peace — there is no peace," his cry; 
 A fire lights up each loyal eye; 
 No peace till war has wrecked the might 
 Of him who would the World affright. 
 Peace-loving France and Albion's sons, 
 Now face the gale, and man the guns — 
 And beat the chains the Huns have forged. 
 And stay the beast with blood engorged; 
 Shall we bask idly in the light? 
 May God forbid — on with the fight. 
 
 "Is life so dear and peace so sweet?" 
 He asked ; "That we should humbly meet 
 The purchase price in slavery's chains?" 
 
 "No," we reply; "Nor count the pains 
 Resistance means to this great foe — 
 The sea of misery and, woe, 
 That war must inevitably cause; 
 Be free — or death — we cannot pause." 
 While clash of arms their horrors bring, 
 Our song of Liberty we will sing. 
 
 [ 18 ] 
 
Good-Bye, Mother 
 
 A Recruit's Letter 
 
 "Good-bye, Mother, we are leaving; 
 
 All aboard and feeling fine; 
 While the anchor's being lifted, 
 
 I am writing you this line. 
 Say "Good-bye" to brother Billy, 
 
 And kiss sister Lou for me; 
 How I'd love once more to see you 
 
 'Fore this ship puts out to sea. 
 
 And say. Mother, you won't worry? 
 
 Sure you won't — you must feel glad 
 That your boy's a great big soldier 
 
 Who last night was but a lad. 
 And say, Mother, write real often 
 
 All about our friends so dear — 
 For I reckon I'll get lonesome 
 
 Thinking of you over here. 
 
 And say. Mother, you tell Laura 
 That "I'll be as safe as pie"; 
 
 I'll be back and get my darling 
 'Fore the end of next July. 
 
 For we're out to lick the Kaiser, 
 
 [ 19 ] 
 
And we'll do it, you hear me — 
 Just as soon as we can reach him 
 It's a case of one, two, three. 
 
 Good-bye, Mother, now don't worry; 
 
 Dry your eyes and look real bright — 
 For we soldier boys are cheerful 
 
 Who have really got to fight. 
 And it makes us all more happy 
 
 If our dear ones, too, are brave; 
 Then, you know, we all must sometime 
 
 Look into the open grave. 
 
 And, dear Mother, which is better 
 
 When we hear God's final call, 
 To be heaping up mere riches 
 
 Or to save our Country's fall? 
 I for one prefer to suffer. 
 
 If there's suffering to be. 
 Holding up our starry banner 
 
 That our Country may be free. 
 
 Now good-bye, the ship is moving, 
 
 I must close this, and away, 
 So the tug-boat's mate can mail it 
 
 When they cut loose down the bay; 
 Good-bye, Mother, now be happy — 
 
 Durn the luck — excuse this blot — 
 Guess the ocean's splashing over 
 
 Try'n to wet up all I've got." 
 
 [ 20 ] 
 
Hold On, France 
 
 We are coming, France, yes, coming; 
 
 We are coming millions strong; 
 Hold the line a little longer — 
 
 You will hear our battle song. 
 
 We are coming from the cities — 
 From our busy marts of trade; 
 
 We are coming from the country, 
 
 Where our blood and brawn are made. 
 
 From the Eastland — from the Westland- 
 North and South — we all unite. 
 
 And our men by teeming thousands 
 Hasten forward to the fight. 
 
 When we heard your cry of anguish — 
 Heard the call of Freedom's cause — 
 
 Not one moment did we tarry. 
 Nor one moment will we pause, 
 
 Until all our manly millions. 
 Or enough are on the way 
 
 [ 21 ] 
 
To hurl back the Tyrant's hirelings, 
 And help France to win the day. 
 
 Listen, France, and you will hear them — 
 Steady tramp of marching feet; 
 
 Noble men, and strong with courage, 
 Who have never known defeat. 
 
 Look up, France, and you will see them. 
 Lithe in limb and keen of eye — 
 
 Not one blemish to the profile 
 As their serried ranks go by. 
 
 And we give them, freely give them. 
 Greatest gift the world has known. 
 
 That your freedom, and our freedom 
 Never shall be overthrown. 
 
 Courage, France, we know your brave 
 ones. 
 
 Glorious Marne, and bold Verdun, 
 Valor spots on our World's pages 
 
 Which are not forgotten soon; 
 
 And we're sending you these millions. 
 With upspringing, gladsome pride. 
 
 That our loved ones, with your loved 
 ones. 
 Will be fighting side by side. 
 
 [ 22 ] 
 
My Love Is a Soldier Boy 
 
 My Love is a soldier laddie; 
 
 Handsome boy, so tall and straight; 
 Dressed in closely-fitting khaki 
 
 No one else can look so great; 
 And he loves me — yes, he loves me — 
 
 And I love him as my life; 
 How it hurts to have him drilling 
 
 For a part in this war strife. 
 
 But he tells me, ''there's no danger," 
 
 "Two per cent," I think he said, 
 Of the brave boys who are fighting 
 
 That get numbered 'mongst the dead; 
 And he says, "I'm out for glory; 
 
 I will make you proud of me — 
 I'm a private now, but some day 
 
 Soon, a Captain I will be." 
 
 "When we all come homeward marching. 
 Flags a-flying, victory won, 
 And the folks are all hurrahing 
 And each mother hugs her son, 
 
 [ 23 ] 
 
And you see me as a leader, 
 Toasted by the best in town — 
 
 Then I'll pick you from amongst them — 
 Mine for life, and settle down." 
 
 "We will have a little cottage. 
 
 Rose embowered with gravel'd walks, 
 And a shady little arbor 
 
 Where we'll sit and have our talks; 
 And I'll tell you of the battles 
 
 Where we fought and won much fame. 
 Of that day, mayhaps, the Orders 
 
 Mentioned me outright by name." 
 
 "And the flight of years so happy — 
 
 Still will find us happy, too. 
 For you'll share with me the glories 
 
 Of the battles I've gone through; 
 And perhaps about our fireside 
 
 Little ones will come and play. 
 And they'll listen to the stories 
 
 'Daddy' tells of that great day." 
 
 Ah, if this could happen truly 
 And he need not take the chance 
 
 Of that "two per cent" of lost ones 
 On those warring fields of France, 
 
 [24] 
 
I would be the happiest mortal 
 That kind God has ever made : 
 
 Is there no way but through sorrow 
 That old Earth's sad debts are paid? 
 
 There now, ''Buck up," says my soldier; 
 
 "Right about" and "Dress" the line; 
 "Forward, March" ; I'll show him, women 
 
 Don't all need to fret and whine; 
 That we give up for our country 
 
 All we have, and keep dry eyes ; 
 If the roll call finds them absent — 
 
 Then — why, that's our sacrifice. 
 
 [ 25 ] 
 
The Spirit of 1918 
 
 Those days In Seventeen Seventy-six, 
 
 And then, In Eighteen Sixty-one; 
 Again, when Cuban patriots 
 
 Announced that Spanish rule was done — 
 Were stirring days and warsome days — 
 
 Were days when heroes heard the call — 
 But fighting Germany In France, 
 
 For downright Spirit, beats them all. 
 
 We love that wounded fifing corps 
 
 That typifies proud Seventy-six, 
 And Lincoln's Gettysburg address 
 
 Reunion In our land depicts; 
 While Dewey at Manila Bay, 
 
 And ''Teddy" charging San Juan Hill, 
 Portray the Spirit of Ninety-eight, 
 
 Which gave that day its proper thrill. 
 
 .But all the Spirit of those times 
 
 Boiled down and crystallized In one 
 
 Could not begin to duplicate 
 
 The "grit" with which we'll face the Hun 
 
 [ 26 ] 
 
And all the money, ships and guns, 
 And all the brave and manly men, 
 
 In all the wars we've ever fought, 
 We now can multiply by ten. 
 
 And like past wars of our free land. 
 
 No selfish purpose underlies; 
 The Spirit bids us on to save, 
 
 Not lust of gain or grand emprise. 
 Our aim is righteous, cause is just; 
 
 We champion Liberty and Right; 
 No Tyrant calls us to the sword. 
 
 We, one and all, resolve to fight. 
 
 The Spirit moves this avalanche; 
 
 This incensed Nation goes to meet 
 An Autocrat, who drives his slaves 
 
 To put the World beneath his feet. 
 The Spirit moves, we follow on 
 
 Undaunted by the slightest doubt; 
 Across the battlefields to come 
 
 We hear today the Victory shout. 
 
 [ 27 ] 
 
"Sonny, Dear" 
 
 Three months have gone, my Sonny, 
 
 Dear — 
 Three dismal months of dread and fear — 
 Since that eventful gala day 
 When my brave soldier marched away. 
 I hear again the people's cheers — 
 Cheers rising from a sea of tears; 
 I hear again the martial strain 
 Of music, echoing forth my pain; 
 I feel again your loving arm — 
 Your kiss, those lips — so fresh and warm; 
 My ears still catch your stifled sigh — 
 You were too big and brave to cry; 
 And then, the troop train rolled away. 
 And Life took on its hue of gray. 
 
 Three months have gone, and somewhere. 
 Dear, 
 "Somewhere in France," 'tis printed here, 
 You, whom I nestled at my breast, 
 And with soft croonings put to rest; 
 You, whom I cradled at my knee 
 
 [ 28 ] 
 
And gently nursed through infancy — 
 Heart of my heart — a twain of one, 
 Flesh of my flesh — my only son — 
 This paper says, "Undaunted held 
 The line, the Germans hotly shelled; 
 And gave them back a hundred-fold 
 In pay for wickedness untold;" 
 My boy, who at my apron grew, 
 Has kept our high traditions true. 
 
 "Somewhere in France": Ah, that 
 "Somewhere" : 
 If I were only nearer there, 
 To comfort you if you were ill — 
 A Mother once, is Mother still; 
 And somehow never grasps the plan 
 Of years that changes "boy" to "man." 
 While praises of you give me joy. 
 Somehow, I'd rather have my boy — 
 My boy, with curly head at play. 
 Playing the soldier he'd be some day — 
 Than winning Glory now in France, 
 'Midst gas and shell and Life's one 
 
 chance; 
 Somehow, I'd love him just the same 
 Without the Glory and the Fame. 
 [ 29 ] 
 
Three months In France : Ah, Sonny, 
 
 Dear, 
 If three months more would bring you 
 
 here; 
 Our arms unconquered — Peace at last — 
 A Peace to bind the whole world fast; 
 That not again shall mother's heart 
 Break, as she sees her son depart; 
 A Peace that makes all Nations free, 
 That saves for us our Liberty. 
 And Sonny, Dear, 'tis hard to say. 
 Somehow, If Peace comes not this way, 
 And you must fight on to the end. 
 Then I to Fate will humbly bend; 
 Upheld, to know my son died brave — 
 A worthy son, in an honored grave. 
 
 [ 30 ] 
 
The Women Knit 
 
 From the early days of Lexington, 
 
 Where our forefathers fought the fight, 
 Behind stone walls for Liberty's cause 
 
 And championed forever the Right — 
 
 Through those other days of Eighteen 
 Twelve, 
 
 When we fought our right of the sea. 
 And then, through our own long Civil war 
 
 Which held that the slaves should go free, 
 The men went to war, the women at home 
 
 Were busy at knitting them things. 
 
 And they put them In with each knitted 
 stitch. 
 
 Their love and the courage It brings. 
 And today they knit while soldiers train 
 
 To fight overseas for our land. 
 And they knit In the Love that makes men 
 brave 
 
 With a magic dexterous hand. 
 And history says 'twas ever thus. 
 
 As that is the way of the world, 
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
For women to knit and men to fight 
 
 The legions against them hurled. 
 Those warm woolen socks and knitted scarf 
 
 That come to him over the sea, 
 Bring with them a flood of tender love 
 
 And rechrlsten fond memory; 
 They baptize anew his high design 
 
 To win for his flag there unfurled, 
 For women must knit, and men must fight 
 
 For that is the way of the world. 
 
 [ 32 ] 
 
The Aegis of Our Fathers 
 
 Stain not the glory of our Father's time — 
 Their blood cries out from ground made once 
 
 sublime, 
 By patriots whose breasts burned with true fire, 
 Who played life's glorious song on Freedom's 
 
 lyre: 
 In vain they fought, they bled indeed in vain 
 If we refuse to bear this weight and pain — 
 Nor drive the hideous beast back to his lair 
 To languish In confusion and despair. 
 In vain they crossed the strange and boisterous 
 
 sea 
 To found a land for all who would be free. 
 If we lack valor now to lead the fight 
 And make secure for all their great birth-right. 
 
 We scorn to be mere slaves, we will be free — 
 
 Nor follow dictates made beyond the sea. 
 
 By tyrant king, nor his accursed train; 
 
 Nor wear a gaudy dress to hide the chain 
 
 That Slavery deigns to don as pleasing mask — • 
 
 Mere ensigns of a Despot's heavy task. 
 
 [ 33 ] 
 
Beneath the sacred banners of the past 
 We now enlist and give the die its cast. 
 With every method known to human power 
 We now resolve to end this wicked hour; 
 United zeal and fortitude we give 
 That our forefather's memories may live. 
 
 If we perform our part, a gracious God, 
 
 Who did protect our pious father's sod, 
 
 Will still be mindful of the strength they gave. 
 
 And bare his arm for us, to bless and save. 
 
 Direct our councils, God, while we outfling 
 
 The flag of Freedom, and its paeans sing; 
 
 Approve our measures that this land you blessed 
 
 May true asylum be for all oppressed; 
 
 That bright and strong our Nation's light may 
 
 glow 
 To guide all peoples as they onward go, 
 Until at last a peaceful World shall be 
 Protected by our goddess — Liberty. 
 
 [ 34 ] 
 
Service Flags 
 
 The sordid roll of business wheels 
 
 Grind on the dirty streets, 
 Unmindful of our drafted sons 
 
 Out on the deep, in fleets; 
 Old gay Broadway keeps up its pace 
 
 From dark-time until light, 
 Unthinking of the soldier boys 
 
 Who hold the trench at night. 
 The careless come, the reckless go 
 
 Unhallowed on their way. 
 Unheeding of the wounded ones 
 
 Or Death's toll of each day; 
 But, down the street at a doorway drear, 
 
 There hangs a strip of red, 
 With its center white, and one blue star 
 
 Like azure from overhead; 
 And further down is another strip 
 
 With two stars shining clear. 
 While a third with three on its white field 
 
 Hangs in a window near; 
 And we know that out of the world of 
 men, 
 
 [ 35 ] 
 
The wise and thoughtless gay, 
 Six strong true men have heard Freedom's 
 call 
 
 And bravely marched away. 
 And we know three homes on that same 
 street 
 
 Where happiness used to be, 
 Now places keep for three vacant chairs. 
 
 Here one, there two, there three; 
 And we know three homes where anxious 
 
 fear 
 Await the coming morn, 
 When street boys call out the battle news 
 
 Night's wireless wings have borne. 
 Then doff your hat to the Service Flags, 
 
 You man of careless mien — 
 A nobler scroll on Honor's Roll 
 
 This world has never seen; 
 For first in duty, first in war. 
 
 Their valor will not cease. 
 And when they come marching home 
 again. 
 
 They will be the first In Peace. 
 
 [ 36 ] 
 
At the Third Shot 
 
 The Cyprus was a stately ship, 
 
 Built on the river Clyde, 
 And many a cargo did she bring 
 
 From France to the other side; 
 And many a Master trod her deck 
 
 And called her his own pride. 
 
 The Cyprus was a speedy ship 
 And raced the waters through, 
 
 And many a load of precious freight 
 Was handled by her crew; 
 
 And many a man, and wife and child 
 Took passage 'cross the blue. 
 
 The angry winds are blowing strong. 
 The waves are running high. 
 
 The Cyprus breasts the mighty seas 
 Beneath a wintry sky; 
 
 The passage ways are battened down 
 To keep the good folk dry. 
 
 The daylight wanes, dark evening comes, 
 The winds become a gale, 
 
 [ 37 ] 
 
The lookout dons his warmest coat 
 
 And clings upon the rail; 
 And peering forth in the icy spume 
 
 He watches for a sail. 
 
 And all below is revelry, 
 
 Unheeding of the night, 
 Or dangers lurking in the deep 
 
 Without just cause or right; 
 Fond parents play with children gay 
 
 So lovely to the sight. 
 
 When loudly sounds a cannon's boom, 
 A scream of shrieking shell 
 
 Goes wide the ship ; a hissing plunge 
 Is all that one can tell; 
 
 The gathered folk in startled groups 
 Await in breathless spell. 
 
 Again the booming noise resounds, * 
 
 Again the angry screech; 
 The Captain orders "Full ahead," 
 
 To get beyond its reach; 
 The saintly folk repeat the prayers 
 
 Their mothers used to teach. 
 
 A moment more, and then, Oh, God: 
 A sickening, shivering thud — 
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
A deaf'ning crash, a blinding flash — 
 An ocean stained with blood; 
 
 And women's souls, and children's souls, 
 Go out on the flying scud. 
 
 Oh, Pity: how Idle Is that word 
 When heard by cruel Hun; 
 
 For laughter runs through his bloodless 
 veins. 
 At fearful slaughter done; 
 
 And only mermaids sadly wail 
 At rising of the sun. 
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
Awake, My America 
 
 Awake men, America calls for her strong ones, 
 
 Great heroes In making, courageous and bold; 
 The World's future freedom depends on her 
 brave sons 
 
 To rise as avengers, like true Knights of old. 
 Make haste, for your brothers In arms are In 
 battle, 
 
 And know not the reason of your long delay; 
 Sleep not In your folds like dumb, senseless cattle, 
 
 But gird on your armor and march swift away. 
 
 Across the sad world torn by conflict and anguish 
 Dependent on bounties bestowed by your hand. 
 Where millions bereft In dire urgency languish 
 All eyes are expectantly turned to your land. 
 Their millions outworn by the cannon's fierce 
 shelling, 
 Are straining their ears for the sound of the 
 feet 
 Of oncoming legions, their faith has been telling 
 Would join with their strength In the Kaiser's 
 defeat. 
 
 [ 40 ] 
 
The riches and ease that your land has enjoyed 
 
 For one hundred years in this home of the free, 
 Has lulled you to think that by peace means 
 employed 
 Fair Justice and Right would be born o'er the 
 sea: 
 But wake, men, nor tarry, the peace plan is 
 truthless. 
 Already has Victory crowned the advance 
 Of vast German armies defiant and ruthless, 
 Their east line in Russia, their west line in 
 France. 
 
 Then haste ye, arise, for the bugles are calling. 
 The bond tie of Liberty rests on your swords; 
 List not to the lure of Disloyals appalling. 
 They cumber the earth with their treacherous 
 words : 
 Awake, for America now is in danger. 
 
 Strike soon, lest your efforts will prove them 
 too late. 
 And Freedom to your land will hence be a 
 stranger, 
 And slavery forever your loved ones' sad fate. 
 
 [ 41 ] 
 
Honor the Uniform 
 
 Honor a soldier's uniform, 
 
 Be it khaki or be it blue, 
 For it is a badge of Honor; 
 
 Give Honor, then, its due. 
 Hold not aloof the welcome hand 
 
 From the wearer who does his part. 
 Show forth your duty to our land — 
 
 A duty of the heart. 
 
 Wherever you see a uniform. 
 
 Be it khaki or be it blue, 
 Show it some act of kindness — 
 
 It is fighting for you. 
 A smile, a nod, a little gift 
 
 Is a very small thing to pay 
 The wearer of that uniform, 
 
 Who fights for you today. 
 
 Salute your country's uniform. 
 
 Be it khaki or be it blue. 
 Behold, it stands for Freedom, 
 
 Freedom for yours and you; 
 Between you and the Teuton hordes 
 
 These wearers now bar the way. 
 Defending your home with their 
 swords — 
 
 They fight for you today. 
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
The Burying Squad 
 
 Come with me, Soldiers, gently tread the hallowed 
 ground. 
 Lest we irreverently profane the spot 
 Where all that's mortal lies beneath this hurried 
 mound. 
 Of they, who victims fell of flame and shot. 
 Our duty tenderly to place within the grave 
 The day's dread list of dying heroes brave. 
 
 'Twas piteous sad to lay these youthful forms 
 away; 
 To think Ambition burned once in each breast; 
 That these once stalwart sons, now mere 
 recumbent clay. 
 Some loving mother one time fondly pressed; 
 To know that all in life on which man's mind is 
 
 bent 
 Was garnered up and in one moment spent. 
 
 Perchance tomorrow? When? Have we the 
 right to ask? 
 Another crew will form the burying squad — 
 And we, who now perform this gruesome task, 
 Our turn may come to go beneath the sod. 
 Here's trust, that they of us, like we of these will 
 
 tell— 
 "They fought the fight, and did their duty well." 
 
 [ 43 ] 
 
A Proud Mother 
 
 A more splendid, striking or graceful lad 
 
 Can be found in the wide world over, 
 Than my handsome boy — my navyman, 
 "Thad"— 
 
 Who has taken to sea like a rover. 
 Just watch how sturdy and faithful he stands, 
 
 Awaiting his call for some duty; 
 His wind-beaten face, and brown sun-burned 
 hands 
 
 Are for Freedom's work — not for beauty. 
 
 Of all In our home he was first for fight 
 
 When peril encompassed our Nation; 
 He took up the sword to uphold the right. 
 
 And will never retreat from his station. 
 I have no fear — I am proud of my boy. 
 
 Who grew by my side with his prattle — 
 I know he will bring his mother true joy 
 
 When he wins his first glorious battle. 
 
 [44 ] 
 
^'Tennessee" 
 
 For he was a jolly sailor lad, 
 And he came from Tennessee, 
 
 Where much tall timber may be had 
 Almost as tall as he. 
 
 And he was as brave a sailor boy 
 As lives in the wide world o'er; 
 
 Although he had been his Mother's joy 
 And had heard no cannon's roar. 
 
 When he enlisted one autumn morn. 
 His tall form seen from the rear. 
 
 Provoked the landsmen to laughing scorn 
 He looked so gaunt and queer. 
 
 Since six long months had sped them by 
 With food and sea discipline. 
 
 Then he was a match for anyone, 
 Be he fat, or tall or thin. 
 
 While he sailed like a sailor bold. 
 
 On land he took his fling 
 With the gay, until night grew old — 
 
 And loudly would he sing: 
 [ 45 ] 
 
Oh, here's to the rollicking navy boy, 
 With the scent of the fresh salt sea. 
 With his sunlit face and f rollicking pace, 
 
 And a starboard list to the lea; 
 "You may trust this boy with your 
 country's flag — 
 And to bed and never fear — 
 For he'll lick the enemy Into a rag. 
 Then say, 'Where do we go from 
 here?'" 
 
 And he was in many, a fight — 
 For he sailed the fiery main — 
 
 Where swift torpedoes prove their 
 might. 
 With wreckage, blood and pain. 
 
 Like some keen hound fast on its prey. 
 
 Our sailor boy sailed on; 
 He counted lost that wretched day. 
 
 With no scrap or battle won. 
 
 Undaunted? Yea, with eager glance, 
 He viewed the storm-swept sea — 
 
 This clear-eyed son of a timber lance 
 Who came from Tennessee. 
 
 And then anon he'd sing his song, 
 To cheer his wearied mates, 
 
 [ 46 ] 
 
And they the chorus would prolong 
 With a noise to tempt the Fates. 
 
 *'You may trust this boy with your 
 country's flag — 
 And to bed and never fear — 
 For he'll lick the enemy into a rag, 
 And say, 'Where do we go from 
 here?'" 
 
 One night while the wind blew a gale, 
 And seas were lashing mad. 
 
 An enemy shell below the rail 
 Caused death and havoc sad. 
 
 She settled slowly to her bed 
 
 In deep Atlantic's breast, 
 About her floated the live and dead. 
 
 On the billow's heaving crest. 
 
 Then above the roar of wreck and gale. 
 Came the Tennessee sailor's cheer: 
 ''Say, mates, keep your eyes peeled for a 
 sail — 
 Where do we go from here?" 
 
 Alas, the crew of this brave ship. 
 And the sailor tall and straight. 
 
 Next morn at Heaven's golden slip 
 Sailed in through the pearly gate. 
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
And doubt not that the angels missed 
 The voice of that sailor clear: 
 *'Say, mates, when we get through with 
 this, 
 Where do we go from here?" 
 
 [ 48 ] 
 
March On, March On 
 
 March on, march on, my countrymen. 
 
 Sheathe not your valiant blade — 
 This day you fight for Liberty — 
 
 Man's liberty — God made. 
 Already hath the enemy 
 
 Profaned each sacred right; 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 
 And crush his wolfish might. 
 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 
 March on beyond the Rhine — 
 And teach the woman-slaying Hun 
 
 This stream is not divine; 
 Avenge brave Belgium's fated wrongs. 
 
 With ringing clang of steel; 
 March on, march on, my countrymen. 
 
 Make horse and rider reel. 
 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 March on beyond the Rhine — 
 
 The ruffian now is parcelling out 
 The World within his line ; 
 
 [ 49 ] 
 
Your children, wives and native land 
 
 He covets in this hour; 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 
 And stay his ruthless power. 
 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 
 March on beyond the Rhine — 
 Lest ye be ruled by Teuton tongue 
 
 With claim of "Right Divine." 
 Fight for your women you would save — 
 
 Your children you would guard; 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 
 And strike the Tyrant hard. 
 
 March on, march on, my countrymen, 
 March on beyond the Rhine — 
 
 For on this field you peril all 
 Your happiness and mine; 
 
 'Midst splintering shell on wavering line- 
 Hear, hear, our ringing breath — 
 
 March on, march on, my countrymen. 
 To Victory, or Death. 
 
 [ 50 ] 
 
Gifts 
 
 I still have the ring, Annie, dear — 
 
 The ring you gave unto me 
 From your own sweet hand, Annie, dear, 
 
 'Ere I came across the sea; 
 Each day, many times, Annie, dear, 
 
 I kiss this circlet of gold — 
 A kiss meant for you, Annie, dear. 
 
 But multiplied one thousand fold. 
 
 I still have the book, Annie, dear, 
 
 The testament bound in red; 
 I read it each night, Annie, dear. 
 
 Before the camp signal "To bed"; 
 I read in this book, Annie, dear, 
 
 The sweetest story e'er told; 
 How I prize these gifts, Annie, dear — 
 
 This book, and the ring of gold. 
 
 I still have the kit, Annie, dear — 
 The kit your kind hands prepared — 
 
 Its buttons and thread, Annie, dear, 
 Are by all my company shared; 
 
 [ 51 ] 
 
And this woolen scarf, Annie, dear. 
 Impels me to feel quite rich. 
 
 For the millions of love, Annie, dear, 
 You knitted in with each stitch. 
 
 And I love you most, Annie, dear — 
 
 Most of all this wide, wide world; 
 It is love for you, Annie, dear. 
 
 That I fight for for our flag unfurled; 
 To save you, my sweet Annie, dear, 
 
 From dire fate should we lose this 
 strife — 
 I will fight to the end, Annie, dear, 
 
 And willingly give my life. 
 
 [ 52 J 
 
To Kinsmen On the Line 
 
 All hail, my valiant Kinsmen, 
 
 My Kinsmen on the line; 
 The blood of our brave ancestry 
 
 Exalts your veins, and mine. 
 The pride of Family fealty 
 
 Goes welling through my heart. 
 To know my gallant Kinsmen 
 
 Have Glory for their part. 
 
 At Lexington and Bunker Hill 
 
 Our family won its name 
 As Champions of Liberty, 
 
 And met undying fame; 
 At Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, 
 
 Descendants in their line. 
 Though wide apart in "blue" and 
 "gray," 
 
 Yet, made our Honor shine. 
 
 All honor, valiant Kinsmen, 
 
 Your faithful patriot hand 
 
 Takes up the sword in Freedom's 
 
 cause, 
 
 [ 53 ] 
 
To save your native land; 
 Were I befitted for the strife, 
 
 Your danger would be mine — 
 My ringing steel would guard your 
 steel, 
 
 My blood would mix with thine. 
 
 My pride, most valorous Kinsmen, 
 
 Flows through my blood again — 
 That you will keep traditions true, 
 
 Our name without a stain; 
 Like our forefathers, you will be 
 
 Foremost in loyal cause — 
 And in the thickest of the fight 
 
 Uphold God's righteous laws. 
 
 [ 54 ] 
 
My Big Pal,"Al!" 
 
 Knew you my Pal? My lifelong Pal? 
 
 He that was so straight and tall? 
 He called me "Jim," I called him ''Al"- 
 
 And I was the envy of all. 
 
 Our friendship was like man and wife — 
 Together we played as mere boys ; 
 
 Knew nothing of warfare or strife — 
 Just town-folk with all our small joys. 
 
 Then came this world call for more men 
 To beat back the ravening Hun — 
 
 And we were both drafted, and then — 
 Our real work of life had begun. 
 
 "Al's" Mother, God bless her, was sad, 
 When we drafted men came away; 
 An orphan I, yet folks felt bad 
 When I left my home on that day. 
 
 And think of the luck that was mine. 
 To go to the same camp with "Al," 
 
 For It made the dull moments shine 
 To be near this good-natured Pal. 
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
And luck again followed my track 
 As the big ship sped out to sea — 
 
 To know, that as I looked back, 
 
 "Old Al" stood there looking with me. 
 
 And bless his great blubbering heart, 
 A tear stole from out his warm eye — 
 
 Then quick to uphold the brave part, 
 He laughingly said, "I won't cry." 
 
 For that was "Al's" way all the time, 
 So manly, courageous and brave — 
 
 He poked fun at things most sublime 
 To keep us from being too grave. 
 
 But don't think his whole life a jest. 
 For he had his sober times, too — 
 
 When "Mother," whom he loved the best, 
 Came stealing on memories true. 
 
 No girl had a more tender heart. 
 To save it I think he grew rough; 
 
 A queer kind of protective art 
 
 That makes sensitive natures tough. 
 
 For me, why bless his great soul, 
 
 He'd not let me suffer a thing — 
 Would have taken my name on the Roll, 
 If he'd thought my exemption 'twould 
 bring. 
 
 [ 56 ] 
 
And out on the front firing line, 
 
 He trimmed up our dugout like home, 
 
 With pictures of actresses fine 
 
 And a motto, "Where does my boy 
 roam?" 
 
 And the boys from along that trench 
 Would gather in there every day. 
 
 And leave for a time the bad stench 
 Of "No-Man's land" over the way. 
 
 And there would be laughter and song, 
 For "Al" was the life of the camp — 
 
 While old Fritz's guns boomed along. 
 And his glum watch kept up their 
 tramp. 
 
 Quick wit, a big body and mind, 
 Rough mannered, but good as pure 
 gold; 
 "Old Al" was the best of his kind — 
 The camp rang with stories he told. 
 
 The officers knew he would fight. 
 For oft' in the thick of the shot, 
 
 They had to hold back his great might 
 Lest he would charge rashly the spot. 
 
 At night time when stars were out clear, 
 I always felt safe if "Old Al" 
 
 Was holding the llst'ning post near — 
 No one seemed so shrewd as my Pal. 
 
 [ 57 ] 
 
One night we were doing our stunt, 
 Not heeding the shell's screaming 
 storm ; 
 And "Al" said: ''Wish Mother could 
 see this front, 
 And me in my new uniform." 
 
 "She'd worry at all this bad mud, 
 
 And hunt up a broom for a sweep," 
 And he laughed, then he thought of the 
 blood, 
 And the scenes that would make her 
 weep. 
 
 "Can't be did," said he, "Not just yet — 
 Our mothers can't come over here. 
 But when this war's over, you bet, 
 I'm for home with my uniform 'dear'." 
 
 And he laughed at the seeming jest 
 Of his uniform being "dear," 
 
 And I joined in with the rest, 
 
 Not thinking the end was so near. 
 
 When came there a blinding hot glare. 
 The horror no words can portray — 
 
 A ball of fire swirled through the air. 
 And made night a lurid bright day. 
 
 [ 58 ] 
 
I fell at the first, 'neath the wall, 
 
 Then slowly came back to the world; 
 
 Poor "Al," who was so big and tall. 
 Caught the full force of that which 
 was hurled. 
 
 We pulled out his huge, bulky weight 
 From debris the missile had thrown; 
 
 He whispered: "I'll be all right, Mate — 
 Don't jump if I let out a groan." 
 
 Poor "Al," he had got his death stroke; 
 
 We carried him down to the base. 
 But still he would crack off a joke 
 
 About some hearse-ambulance race. 
 
 A few days he lay wan with pain — 
 The surgeons had come to perform; 
 
 Said he: "I'll see Mother again. 
 But it won't be in uniform." 
 
 And we buried him in a mound. 
 With ten others killed on that day; 
 
 The firing squad let off its round. 
 
 And we all turned and marched away. 
 
 So that was the end of my Pal, 
 
 His end here on earth, I should write, 
 
 For I bet big, good-natured "Al" 
 Is joking the angels tonight. 
 
 [ 59 ] 
 
Unidentified 
 
 Only a locket of tarnished gold, 
 
 With tiny picture, faded and old, 
 
 Of kindly woman with care-worn face, 
 
 Where marching years had left their sad trace. 
 
 Only a cross that the Priest had blessed, 
 Hung with the locket upon his breast, 
 By a narrow bit of ribbon red — 
 Remains to identify the dead. 
 
 Found where the contest had been the worst, 
 Blown to atoms as some big shell burst — 
 One of a thousand lost on that day — 
 None have returned to tell of the way. 
 
 Some in war prisons may time await 
 For fair exchange to decide their fate; 
 The rest are named, except this one; 
 Who knows the picture — will name the son. 
 
 Out in the world some mother stands 
 Shading her worn eyes with her hand — 
 Gazing in space, as if by chance 
 To catch a glimpse of her boy in France. 
 
 . [ 60 ] 
 
"Missing" — the words she read are clear; 
 Not dead, but missing, brings Hope near; 
 And Hope says: "Let the home fires burn," 
 To greet my boy on his return. 
 
 Earth to earth we commit this brave, 
 To all the Honors of a grave — 
 The locket with its ribbon band 
 We give into the Chaplain's hand. 
 
 Once more we look on that dear face 
 Of "Mother" the locket holds in place; 
 That Heaven will give his brave soul rest. 
 This cross assures — that the Priest had blessed. 
 
 Not on this earth will he be known, 
 But there, before the Heavenly throne, 
 Mother and son will joyfully meet — 
 God joins his own at the Mercy Seat. 
 
 Who was this man? What was his name? 
 A soldier who won deathless fame — 
 One whom History will with pride 
 Write down as UNIDENTIFIED. 
 
 [ 61 ] 
 
"Extra" 
 
 "Extra I Extra I" A raucous cry 
 Of shouting newsboys that speed by; 
 Oh, how my heart trembles within 
 At sound of this discordant din. 
 
 "Extra! War Extra — Latest News; 
 
 "Journal" or "Call" — which will you choose?" 
 I falter with a haunting dread — 
 His name may be on the list of dead. 
 
 "Extra — Extra — Big German Drive; 
 Ten Thousand Prisoners Taken Alive;" 
 How dare I read, perhaps his name 
 Is entered there on the Roll of Fame. 
 
 "Extra — U. S. Boys on the Line;" 
 "Hurrah," say some — "That's doing fine;" 
 My prayer is now: "God keep him well 
 And save him from War's torturing Hell." 
 
 "Extra — Sammies In Thickest Fight;" 
 Oh, agony of day and night — 
 The dread suspense, lest each foot-fall 
 Brings news — "He gave his country all." 
 
 [ 62 ] 
 
Army vs. Navy 
 
 Our army holds our lands — 
 
 Our navy guards the sea — 
 And both these loyal bands 
 
 Now fight for Liberty; 
 A finer lot of boys, 
 
 For land and water, too, 
 Ne'er heard a battle's noise, 
 
 Nor sailed the briney blue. 
 
 Each branch fulfills a place 
 
 Distinct to it alone ; 
 They enter each a race 
 
 And vie to be outshone; 
 The army boys believe 
 
 Their work will win the day- 
 The navy lads relieve 
 
 Their minds another way. 
 
 A rivalry upsprings 
 
 Between these branches true, 
 Concerning many things 
 
 These factions have to do; 
 
 [ 63 ] 
 
The army loves to boast 
 It keeps the sailors free 
 
 By fortressing the coast 
 That lies beyond the sea. 
 
 The navy lads declare, 
 
 With accents broad and rough; 
 "You give us time to spare? 
 
 Where do you get that stuff?" 
 "You fight for us, 'tis true — 
 To this we all agree — 
 But who takes care of you 
 As you sail across the sea?" 
 
 [ 64] 
 
A Woman's Reward 
 
 The Fates decreed I cannot fight 
 
 With gun upon the line; 
 Or, in the active throes of war 
 
 Claim Victory as mine; 
 A woman I, by Nature's mold 
 
 Unfitted for the fray; 
 My mission only seems to be 
 
 To work, to watch, and pray. 
 
 To watch, to work, and pray that Time 
 
 Will bring him back to me — 
 Unscathed from out that "No-Man's 
 Land," 
 
 That lies beyond the sea; 
 To work, to watch and pray our boys 
 
 May grandly win the fight — 
 And thence, forever, will this world 
 
 Be ruled by conquering Right. 
 
 How often do I long to be 
 
 A stalwart, forceful man. 
 Who puts his shoulder to the wheel 
 And pushes all he can; 
 
 [ 65 ] 
 
Would I were such, a thousand things 
 
 Of valor would I do — 
 To help along the righteous cause 
 
 We fight beyond the blue. 
 
 And then, methinks, each one must fill 
 
 His own true little niche; 
 Strong men to man the heavy guns, 
 
 While women sit and stitch; 
 And when the final die is cast 
 
 We'll find on Judgment Day 
 Those women merit with the men 
 
 Who watch, and work, and pray. 
 
 [ 66 ] 
 
Our Navy Review 
 
 Oh, sing us a song of our Navy's sons, 
 
 Who sail o'er the wide open sea — 
 And sing what they did 'mongst the bravest 
 ones 
 
 In the war of our Liberty. 
 Had ever a ship a handsomer crew? 
 
 Nor keener, more valiant band — 
 Than these boys who fight for the Red, 
 White and Blue, 
 
 And protect our God-favored land. 
 
 To the East and the West through old 
 Ocean's length. 
 
 Our sea-bound Republic has stood. 
 For all time a towering haven of strength, 
 
 Inviting the World if it would; 
 And ever our ships since Farragut's time 
 
 Have sailed o'er the blue ocean's crest. 
 And spread wide the Hope of Freedom 
 sublime 
 
 To the down-trodden and oppressed. 
 
 [ 67 ] 
 
When lo, came command from Arrogance 
 wild, 
 
 Forbidding our use of the sea — 
 America challenged — man, woman and child, 
 
 Arose for our loved Liberty; 
 
 And streaming through ports to beat of the 
 drum 
 
 Like unnumbered drops of a mist, 
 From country and cities where factories hum 
 
 Our millions of workers are missed. 
 
 "On, forward to France," is our Nation's cry; 
 ''Avenge the mad Tyrant's fierce zeal — 
 Hold steady our glory-kissed banners on high 
 
 And strike for our brave country's weal; 
 And give us at once a thousand big ships 
 
 To carry our men to the war, 
 And ten thousand guns with fire spouting lips 
 To answer the Kaiser's afar. 
 
 Then forth from the fields and the cities' 
 walls. 
 
 Came legions to give of their blood. 
 Dyed red with the courage that never falls. 
 
 No matter how fearful the flood; 
 And thousands untold where iron masts sway 
 
 Over steel decks and parapet, 
 Stand bold in the flames of the cannon's play, 
 
 And have never been conquered yet. 
 [ 68 ] 
 
Midst wintry winds and the hurricane's 
 wrath, 
 
 Their valor undaunted remains, 
 Defending our ships which follow the path 
 
 Where the Hun lies in wait for his gains; 
 Through starlight and moonlight their 
 batteries keep 
 
 Close vigil on landside and wave; 
 Our countrymen now in security sleep. 
 
 Protected by our sailors brave. 
 
 [ 69 ] 
 
The Immortals 
 
 We see them now, not pale In silent death — 
 But living, brave, resplendent in their breath; 
 Those gallant men who gave their lives to free 
 The slave-bound lands that lie beyond the sea. 
 Great courage never dies, but holds Its prize 
 Aloft, to tantalize our weaker eyes — 
 And teach the value of unclouded name 
 To all who seek the laurel wreath of fame. 
 
 Their bodies to the earth? Yea, but their souls. 
 Indelibly affixed to Memory's rolls. 
 Live on with us, and through all future years 
 Will our hopes inspire, and assuage our tears. 
 Men but begin to live, whose lips are stilled 
 While doing good with which their lives were 
 
 filled; 
 Their characters are molded on the age — 
 Their breath exhales from History's written page. 
 
 T-helr souls live on with us, and lift us higher — 
 We consecrate their names with our heart's fire; 
 We emulate their deeds and their brave end — 
 To be like them, we all our powers unbend. 
 
 [ 70 ] 
 
To live, to die, to dissipate in mists — 
 Their names unmentioned on life's coming lists, 
 Can never be for those whose spirits feel 
 The impulse to uphold their country's weal. 
 Oh, gallant hearts, who give your ruddy flow 
 
 That Tyranny shall feel its mortal blow. 
 And drown the Kaiser's minions in their blood 
 Who drench the fields of France with crimson 
 
 flood; 
 Your names shall live — your Spirits shall endure 
 And all time keep our institutions pure; 
 Your influence like fragrance to a flower 
 Shall cling to men until their dying hour. 
 
 [ 71 ] 
 
Courage 
 
 Hearts may be breaking, 
 
 And we not know it; 
 Some pass their fellows 
 
 With a pleasant nod; 
 Their's the real Courage 
 
 Who do not show it — 
 Whose souls meanwhile 
 
 Pass under the rod. 
 
 There is an agony of deep despair — 
 Too deep for outward show and care; 
 Where sympathy leads out in vain 
 To reach the cause of another's pain. 
 
 There may be sorrows too great for sighs, 
 
 Where tears no longer fill the eyes — 
 
 A wave of the hand, a nod of the head. 
 
 May cover the sorrow of a loved one dead. 
 
 [ 72 ] 
 
Perseverance 
 
 Not to the swift, the race, nor to the strong; 
 But to the one who slowly plods along; 
 Who perseveres with energy each day 
 To surmount obstacles that bar the way. 
 
 No sudden spurt, the gain — nor vivid track of 
 
 light- 
 As marks a meteor's wandering at night; 
 But only constant effort to uplift 
 And hold secure some cherished noble gift. 
 
 For prowess comes through long continued zeal; 
 Repeated blows, all broken ends anneal; 
 Persistent effort ever wins the prize, 
 Which dangles temptingly before our eyes. 
 
 [ 73 ] 
 
"Abe's" Victory 
 
 Above the summer landscape of the World 
 Two Eagles in far depths of scintillant blue, 
 Like shimmering cloudlets almost lost to view, 
 
 On cycling pinions round the vault are whirled; 
 
 As forest leaves by upward whirlwind twirled 
 They wheel and dip and rise to heights anew. 
 
 Anon, one, tiring of so great a height. 
 This dizzy ruling over Infinite space. 
 Foregoes the laurels of such majestic race, 
 
 And earthward slowly wheels his forceful flight; 
 
 His monstrous wings outstretched reveal their 
 might, 
 And gleaming talons speak no gentle grace. 
 
 A somber shadow falls upon the Earth 
 
 As slow he wings his ominous course around; 
 * A shadow that with dire calamities abound; 
 Where all before shone happiness and mirth 
 Now every evil known to demon birth 
 
 Runs riot where this shadow meets the ground. 
 
 [ 74 ] 
 
Where peaceful homes once glorified the land, 
 Stalks War and Hate a ravaging cause to gain; 
 Their wake, a tide of insupportable pain, 
 
 With rapine, wreck and ruin on every hand; 
 
 This shadow like some sad funereal band 
 Gives mourning for the dead on Earth and 
 Main. 
 
 Our Eagle still at coign of vantage high 
 Observes the desolation wrought below — 
 Receives the call to stay this wanton flow, 
 
 And straightway leaves his eyrie in the sky; 
 
 His whirring pinions toward the Earth draw nigh 
 To check the other's ceaseless spread of woe. 
 
 The welkin echoes loud the battle cries. 
 
 The Earth below resounds with deaf'ning ring 
 The shock and crash of shivering bone and wing 
 
 Of this most frightful conflict of the skies; 
 
 Now prone upon the Earth black Eagle lies. 
 Hurled downward like some helpless fluttering 
 thing. 
 
 Aloft on rocky crags o'er beetling steep 
 
 The conquering victor prunes his tarnished 
 
 dress ; 
 Below, where havoc wrought a desperate stress, 
 
 Exulting Nations their thanksgivings keep; 
 
 The Prussian Eagle sent his long last sleep — 
 "Old Abe" pursues all Eagles that oppress. 
 
 [ 75 ] 
 
Our Responsibility 
 
 Whose vassals we? Who owns this land? 
 The time is nearing close at hand 
 When we are slaves, or we are free — 
 For that we fight for liberty; 
 Will we have homes to call our own, 
 Or sit in wretchedness and moan 
 O'er houses pillaged and destroyed 
 By cruel Huns with carnage cloyed? 
 
 On us the fate must now depend 
 Of unborn millions, and their end 
 No human efforts then can save. 
 Lest we resist with efforts brave; 
 The ruthless, unrelenting foe 
 Leaves us no choice but war's sad woe; 
 This hour goes out our Heaven-borne 
 cry — 
 "Resolve to conquer or to die." 
 
 Our own, our country's honor calls 
 For men whose courage never falls; 
 Should we now tamely act and fail. 
 Our infamy God would bewail; 
 
 [ 76 ] 
 
In His hand Victory will lie — 
 He gives where noblest spirits try; 
 To us the World's eyes now upraise — 
 Then wield the sword and win its praise. 
 
 Prove free-born men have greater worth 
 Than slavish mercenaries of earth; 
 More wicked are their arts we know — 
 Yet, we repulse each cruel blow; 
 Their cause is bad, they know it well — 
 With maddened zeal brewed deep in Hell 
 They lull their consciences to sleep. 
 Or follow blindly like dull sheep. 
 
 On your high courage rests the claim 
 Of refuge from the cannon's flame; 
 Our wives and children, parents, all 
 Will wear the chains or burial pall. 
 If Heaven crowns not our efforts now 
 To make the Teuton lowly bow ; 
 With faith and firmness our brave swords 
 May sound the knell of trampling hordes. 
 
 Be ours the burden to redress 
 The wrongs an Empire would impress ; 
 To prove the Freedom we uphold 
 The New World turns upon the Old; 
 With "Liberty" our song sublime 
 We praise the earth — inspire Time, 
 Until cold slavery's wretched fields 
 Will warmly give of fruitful yields. 
 [ 77 ] 
 
Discipline 
 
 Long did I watch from yonder signal tower, 
 Where youth keeps vigil o'er life's dreamy hour, 
 To catch one gleam from realms of space afar, 
 Of that bright harbinger — my Fate's own star. 
 
 All through the sunlight of youth's bright day. 
 When men appear as actors — Life, the play — 
 I scanned the waves of ocean for one trace 
 Of that fair ship which comes in Fortune's place. 
 
 Hours have I pondered over ancient lore. 
 To measure there the good that was in store; 
 But fruitless thus my efforts to descry 
 The form and manner of my destiny. 
 
 One day there came unto my study door 
 A little thing — a duty — nothing more; 
 It seemed so weak as it came creeping in, 
 I did not know its name was "Discipline." 
 
 And day by day as I sought far and wide 
 The light of some great star my steps to guide, 
 This weakling sat within my own household. 
 And wove a web about me of pure gold. 
 
 When I awoke from idle dreams at last, 
 I found this golden thread had bound me fast; 
 I learned that Fate gleams not from out the sky. 
 But "Duty" is the Star of Destiny. 
 
 [ 78 ] 
 
Remember Me 
 
 Remember, Lord, when I shall come 
 To ask thy just encomium. 
 
 Or suffer judgment at thy seat; 
 That I have each his rights restored. 
 And thy forgiveness oft implored; 
 
 Thy mercy I entreat. 
 
 Remember, Lord, that when I sin. 
 It comes not from the soul within. 
 
 Nor from an unkind, evil heart; 
 But rather from a carefree mind. 
 Which all-forgetting fails to find 
 
 And keep the better part. 
 
 Remember, Lord, I here await 
 Upon thy word most Incarnate, 
 
 And hold thy light as sacred truth ; 
 Despise not then my soul's appeal, 
 But let my years of mature zeal 
 
 Outweigh the flaws of youth. 
 
 [ 79 ] 
 
Allan Beaumont 
 
 The concave Heavens, like inverted bowl 
 Of purest crystal, bends o'er Beaumont's Knoll; 
 Cemented on the West to Earth's far verge, 
 And to the East, where land and ocean merge; 
 From summit of this knoll o'erspread with blue 
 The eye obtains an unobstructed view 
 Of many miles of undulating land, 
 Whose park-like aspects pleasantly expand; 
 Revealing level meads and wooded hills, 
 Whose simple beauties highest Art fulfills. 
 Meandering leisurely through meadow soils 
 The modest streams unfold in sinuous coils; 
 Like silver ribbons curved in graceful lines 
 They flow away to vision's faint confines. 
 
 The focus, where these landscape pleasures 
 
 meet — 
 This sightly knoll, long has formed the seat 
 Of wealthy Planter; he, whose honored days 
 Upholds the pride of staid Virginia's ways; 
 In solemn massiveness rears Beaumont Hall, 
 Ionic columns lend their grace withal; 
 
 [ 80 ] 
 
O'er-crusted with a stately discipline 
 
 These rugged walls belie the peace within; 
 
 For there the font of kindness ever plays, 
 
 And gentle invitation often sways 
 
 Some welcome visitor to cease to roam, 
 
 But there find substitute for home; 
 
 And where the guest who would not long to stay 
 
 Amidst this warmth of hospitality. 
 
 Yet, not as mere composite pile of stone 
 Was Beaumont Hall through nearby country 
 
 known ; 
 Its quiet splendor spoke with eloquence, 
 Of gentle blood and courtly influence. 
 Reflecting forth a halo of esteem 
 For all who hold that virtue is supreme. 
 Its ivy walls seem crowned with intellect. 
 Which gives each stone a less severe aspect. 
 And hither comes aristocratic blood — 
 The sturdy root, and branch, and dainty bud 
 Of that great tree which rules the human mind 
 Through gracious elegance and arts refined; 
 Here gathers every well-born denizen 
 Of this fair land of women and strong men. 
 
 The history-making men of our great race 
 The festal boards of Beaumont oft did grace, 
 Till social prestige makes the certain boast 
 
 [ 81 ] 
 
That Beaumont is the beacon on life's coast; 
 
 Here come grave diplomats who undermine 
 
 And reconstruct whole nations while they dine; 
 
 Surrounding all is that refinement rare, 
 
 Consideration and unequalled care, 
 
 Which marked the days when gentlemen instilled 
 
 Ennobling thoughts — as Chivalry was filled; 
 
 And ladies cultivated every art. 
 
 Which their distinguished birth could them 
 
 impart; 
 And all illumined were by that soft light 
 That springs from noble purposes of right. 
 
 Along such paths of harmony replete 
 Young Allan Beaumont found life very sweet; 
 A soft contentment shone upon his face, 
 Full transcript of this cheerful, quiet place. 
 Where first he breathed the sweetly-scented air, 
 And waking, found the World to be most fair. 
 From early years, according to God's plan. 
 Like melting tones of flute, life onward ran — 
 Perfecting him in all the symmetry 
 Which filial love and friendship could decree. 
 While conscious of the power of his own name. 
 He yet resolved to give it added fame; 
 To claim a place high in the World's renown. 
 In realms of genius to wear the princely crown. 
 
 [ 82 ] 
 
Inheritor of name and large estates, 
 His destiny inspired by good fates, 
 In future expectations bright appeared 
 The Goddess Fame with laurel wreath upreared; 
 To grace the many attributes of worth 
 Which halo-like hung o'er his favored earth. 
 And gave to Allan's cultivated brain 
 The soft cloud lights expressed by Claude 
 Lorraine. 
 
 A woman nurtured carefully from youth, 
 Endowed with lovely qualities of truth, 
 Confided her sweet nature to his heart, 
 And of his love became the greater part; 
 She stimulated with her soul refined 
 The noble impulses of his young mind. 
 
 Through loving care a mother did exalt 
 Her perfect child above their common fault — 
 A fault which many noble people hold, 
 And which cannot be remedied with gold; 
 A fault which genius may alone adorn — 
 The fault, alas, of being lowly born. 
 Fair Edith's family came of German stock, 
 And while their intellect would feign unlock 
 The doors of Beaumont Hall, to let them pass — 
 There lay that gulf 'twixt they and well-born 
 class, 
 
 [ 83 ] 
 
The gulf of gentle birth and high prestige, 
 Across which Love has often thrown a bridge, 
 And thus invited loved intruder in — 
 Although e'en this brings censure of a sin. 
 
 Another obstacle in .time arose 
 To^bring their day of love-dreams to a close; 
 For soon, the distant mutterings of strife. 
 Whose sounds had not before reached Beaumont 
 
 life, 
 Came nearer with a loud, discordant tongue. 
 Awaking bitter thoughts in old and young. 
 Through strong opinions which o'errule the heart 
 A friend from friend will erstwhile stray apart; 
 And Allan gave his mind to Allies' cause, 
 While she he loved was bound by German laws; 
 And each pursued a lone and saddened way. 
 She to her Prussian home, and he to armed affray. 
 
 With cheerful eyes youth doth behold the band 
 Of Hope, which rainbow Hke o'er-spans the land. 
 'Ere Allan parted from his Edith with a sigh, 
 A gleam of yearning love bedewed his eye; 
 He closed his loved one's form unto his breast. 
 And while her cheek to his was fondly pressed. 
 He murmured soft: "We part, but for a time. 
 While I the rungs of Fortune quickly climb; 
 On battlefields where shot and shell doth pour, 
 
 [ 84 ] 
 
Amidst the grim realities of war, 
 More surely than by other paths may Fame 
 Attach herself unto my youthful name; 
 In war, the lowly Page becomes a Knight, 
 It matters not If cause be wrong or right. 
 
 "When I return from war, and shout and drum, 
 
 Proclaim that I, a hero, homeward come, 
 
 My dream will be to have you for my bride, 
 
 And crowned with honor, seat you by my side; 
 
 And none will dare a finger to onlay. 
 
 Or to our wedding give their rightful "Nay." 
 
 When I return a star of first degree, 
 
 Whose light hath set my own loved country free. 
 
 Then we will take command at Beaumont Hall, 
 
 And rule with regal splendor over all. 
 
 The greatest minds shall gather 'round our board. 
 
 And pay their homage to my wife adored; 
 
 'Till then, be true, and ever wait for me. 
 
 And I'll be true, and surely come to thee." 
 
 Then to his loved one Allan bid adieu, 
 Believing his young dreams would still prove true; 
 But poison seems to dwell In things of earth, 
 Which robs achievement of Its cherished worth. 
 And over each ambition casts a spell 
 That lures man's feet 'neath shades of asphodel. 
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
Man trims his lamp and by its fitful glare 
 Attempts the fickle moth of Fame to snare; 
 Or hotly presses Fortune on the wing, 
 To yield to him some fondly wished-for thing; 
 No sooner grasps his hand the longed-for prize 
 Than unseen obstacles at once arise, 
 And by their ruthless certainty destroy 
 The pleasures of anticipated joy. 
 
 We pluck a red-cheeked apple from the tree — 
 
 Or orange, golden with the sun's degree; 
 
 Or lovely rose that droops its crimson head — 
 
 Or banded bee at rest on fragrant bed; 
 
 Or sip we nectar in a lover's charms — 
 
 Or love the prattling babe in parent's arms — 
 
 Or seek we any pleasure to attain, 
 
 In each and all we find a fatal stain. 
 
 A worm the heart of apple doth devour; 
 
 The orange turns to bitterness and sour; 
 
 The lovely rose conceals a jagged thorn. 
 
 While hidden dart of bee Is not foreborne; 
 
 A lover's ecstasy brings sad regret. 
 
 And parent's hope must pay stern Nature's debt. 
 
 Proud Allan's family name brought him the prize 
 He dearly sought for to appease his eyes — 
 A uniform with dazzling bits of gold, 
 
 [ 86 ] 
 
Yet he was truly brave and dashing bold; 
 
 He, with the foreign legion bound his name, 
 
 Whose mad exploits won them lasting fame. 
 
 On battlefields of overridden France 
 
 Our Allan charged the foe with sword and lance, 
 
 And drove the German hordes back to their lines, 
 
 Whene'er they ventured from their own confines. 
 
 So fierce his onslaughts, and so bold his way. 
 
 They oft relied on him to win the day — 
 
 Until the foe retreated at the sight 
 
 Of Allan Beaumont leading on the fight. 
 
 One day a trench raid of excessive force 
 Brought Edith's brother 'cross her Allan's course. 
 And there, a duel, until Allan swooned. 
 And Edith's brother dropped with mortal wound. 
 On furlough home this brother came to tell 
 And curse her Allan with the curse of Hell; 
 And Edith's heart was torn with sad distress, 
 While she, her dying brother's hand did press — 
 And heard her family's prayers of awful hate 
 They pledged to pour on Allan's dreaded fate ; 
 And then, to reach the climax of despair — 
 'Twas all revealed that she had loved him there — 
 At Beaumont's Knoll, where they had plighted 
 
 troth — 
 Her tyrant relatives grew fearful wroth, 
 
 [ 87 ] 
 
And threatened her with cruel vengeance dire 
 If her affections did not thence expire. 
 Heart-broken, with full share in Allan's curse, 
 She left her home to be a Red Cross nurse; 
 And time now brought her to the English base. 
 Where she nursed and blessed those of an alien 
 race. 
 
 You feign would guess the rest of this sad tale? 
 From Life's true aspect we but lift the veil; 
 How Allan meets his brave young death at last — 
 His final hours in Edith's sweet arms passed; 
 How one more name is placed on Honor's Roll 
 In that wide hall at lovely Beaumont Knoll; 
 How Edith gives her strength, her health and all 
 To nurse the wounded soldiers as they fall; 
 Till now, these two both lie beneath the sod, 
 Their souls entwined forever before God. 
 
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