Class _r 5 Qv^O 7 Book J iiP!> S L^ /-] CopiglitN"-/. XL- COfVRIGHT DEPOSrn A Ctttli* look of Amprfemt Hrrap 3Sy CAROLYN B. SMITH Dedicated io the Soldiers, Sailors and Aviators of JJmerica and my friends Ammran l^ra^ CAROLYN B. SMITH Dedicated to the Soldiers, Sailors and Aviators of America and my friends Ammran l^txBt (By '/"^^ CAROLYN B. SMITH Dedicated to the Soldiers, Sailors and Aviators of America and my friends V CJopyriglht 1920 by Carolyn B. Smith (RldgefieM) iPark, N. J. AUG 21 1920 C1.A597108 CONTENTS PAGE America Our Native Land 5 Victory --- 6 Optimism ---------- 8 When The Boys Came Home ----- 10 The Call of The Red Cross 12 United Service --------14 The Soldier's Prayer 15 Miss Columbia — War Song ------ 17 To An Ace - - 19 The Knitting Brigade 20 The European Women's War Tax ----- 21 Easter 1919 - - - - 23 Christmas in The Old Home Town - - - - 24 Miss America's Gallant Boys In The Navy — War Song - 26 A Soldier Boy's Wireless to the Girl He Left Behind Him 27 De Profundis - - - 28 Jeanie In The Heather -------29 The Boy Scouts' Drive -------31 The Imp - - 32 Flowers To The Living -------36 Darktown Lullaby --------37 A Plea for Peace— Peace Sunday 1914 - - - - 38 Discernment ---------39 My Little Boy Allen 40 Four Nature Songs --------41 California The Deer The Call of May Autumn CONTENTS- Continued PAGE Theodore Roosevelt 45 To Edison 46 A Reading Club Poem 47 In Memoriam — J. Whitcomb Riley - - - - 48 The Philosophic Farmer ------ 49 To Doris ----------51 A Twin Lakes Idyl - - 52 Why Women Should Vote ------ 53 New Jersey Women's State Federation Song - - - 55 Noel - - 56 Thanksgiving ---------57 The Last Score - - - -- - - - 58 Community Meeting ------- 59 Love __-------_ 60 Trust 61 Recompense ---------62 In The Silence ---------63 A Saint Patrick's Day Ballad 64 Salvation ----------65 In New York Streets -- - - - - - 67 Reincarnation ---------68 A Question ---------69 Youth ---------- 70 Independence Day --------71 The Castle of Pain -------72 The Berkshire Hills ' - 73 A Little Book of American Verse Go little book of American verse To friends throughout the land, To soldiers, sailor's, airmen, all I I know they will understand. 'Tis not the rhyme of a bard sublime But a record of things we all know. Things to remember when we have time- Spread your wing's little verses — gol By Carolyn B. Smith Author of The New Jersey State Federation Club Song and other songs Mrs. Allen E. Smith A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE AMERICA. OUR NATIVE LAND April 7ih 1917, when America entered the War America! our native land. Pure gold without alloy, Thy sons and daughters hand in hand Proclaim thy name with joy. The call of war is 'round the earth And yet we do not fear, Of men or wealth there is no dearth, For everything is here. O, glorious are our many States With richest wealth untold, Our industries shall bear the weight No other land can hold. We! give the hand of fellowship To those across the sea, Who strive to right "old world" wrongs By seeking liberty. All hail! All hail! dear Stars and Stripes, As through the sky you wave, You are a worthy emblem Of a land so pure and brave. Our national honor stainless is And so 'twill ever be; True justice dealt to all mankind Is making all men free. So let our national anthem ring From East unto the West, We welcome men from every race And so our land's the best. Five A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE VICTORY November 11, 1918. The date of the Arrriistice Upon the wings: of the w^ind Th0 Nev^s, the great news has come Peace, Peace for the world again We have fought and conquered the Hun, Millions of battle-worn soldiers Shall lay down their arms to-day, Hoping for sight of home once more And loved ones far away. Resurgent, all ye nations ! Triumphant fair Liberty stands, Sheltering within her loving arms, The people of foreign lands ; America's young Crusaders Carried her over the sea, They bore her aloft in their brave young arms And died to make men free. Free of the selfish tyrant Who poisoned Europe's air, "Old Glory" borne in American hands Shall blaze the way over there. Those heroes, our wonderful Allies, Through four long weary years, Have fought with Spartan courage ; They command our respect and — our tears. Sijf A LITTLE BOOK OP AMERICAN VERSE Victory for those who are living I Victory for those who are dead! May the sacred soil of Flanders Fields Blaze forth in triumphant red; The glow from the blood of those heroes Shall color the dawn of Peace, They have lived and died to save mankind And their praise never shall cease. And oh, what a welcome we'll give to Our brave soldier lads "Over There," The sound of our Nation cheering Shall reach Europe's war-stricken air. All hail, khaki-clad young heroes. Triumphant in old Lorraine! You have struck the final decisive blow That shall free the Old World again. Then ring all the joybells of gladness A glorious paen of Peace, The earth shall recover from sadness And the reign of cruelty cease. Aloft send the Star-Spangled Banner, Let her wave o'er "the land of the free," Proclaiming America's power on earth Through granting men real Liberty. Seven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE OPTIMISM By Carolyn B. Smith There's room in this great, wide world For everyone we know. For souls who ascend like rockets, For others whose pace is slow. What miatters if some are called "lucky," That for them nothing seems to go wrong? We have the word of the "good old book" : The race is not always to swift of foot Nor the battle to the strong. A truce to the envious minded ! They hurt themselves every time. When they strive to injure another, Who pluckily tries to cHmb. We each have a sturdy ladder That reaches up to the sky, And it's easy enough to reach the top. If we plod right along with seldom a stop And try, try, try! Call a halt when you meet a "knocker." He's wasting your precious time. Time's rather short for each one of us. As up life's ladder we climb. The man whose gaze is upward, With a smile upon his face, May meet with an obstacle now and then, But if he fall's, he is up again; And he wins at the end of the race. Eight A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Don't try to reform the whole world. The Creator is still at the helm. If things seem blue, it is up to you To quiet your own little realm. As long as the ocean is kept in bounds, As long as the sun still shines. It's a jolly old world if you take it that way, And "carry on" life from day to day, And rest when your sun declines. Nine A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE WHEN THE BOYS CAME HOME Oh, I've listened to the story Of Sherman marching to the sea, And the olden tales of Civil War Once sent a thrill through me. But now, when| guns are booming And bells ring out again, It means our gallant Pershing With his Khaki-clad young men. The sight of those young heroes When the transports brought them home, Made the! grandest spectacle That ever crossed the foam. The northern and the southern boys Have linked their arms as one — With their brothers from the east and west, They fought the desperate Hun. O, the joy of that young lady Standing guard on Bedloe's Isle, Where she holds the torch of Liberty That makes our land worth while! I should think, like Galatea, she would turn to flesh again, When she sees the ships returning With our gallant, brave young men. How we cheered them up Fifth Avenue! How we cheered them on Broadway ! We tried to feast and honor them For a debt we hope to pay. And brave Pershing with his officers Who led our gallant men! The spirit of George Washington Still lives and breathes in them. Ten A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE With flags and banners flying And whistles loud and wild, While the church bells sweetly chiming ; Sing of Peace so sweet and mild. All tell of glorious victory For our heroes now returning, As we lead them to the family hearth Where the home fires still are burning. But what of the lads who never return Those bright stars of purest gold? We love them better than ever we; loved Since they joined the Saviour's fold. For they have given the supreme g^ft For the good of their fellow men, And our gratitude we cannot express. *Tis beyond the power of pen. But the tears in our eyes And the hush in each voice, When the names of those heroes are read, Will prove to mankind 'til the end of time, How we love and revere our dead. As bright as the stars on the "service flags" Their memories will live forever, Until the sound of the last bugle call Shall summon earth's armies together. Eleven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE The following Red Cross Poem was used at Red Cross entertainments and "drives" during the War. The Presi- dent instructed his Secretary to write a letter of thanks to the author for the ideas expressed therein. THE CALL OF THE RED CROSS A soldier of America Was dy^ng, off in France, He lay on the bloody battlefield, To live, he had small chance. He dreamed of cooling rivers Flowing through his native, land, "A cup of water, Lord!" he cried, "This thirst is hard to stand." But the sun beat down in fiery heat And the cries and groans of pain Would cause the very dead to wake And suffer once again. Far off, across the distant field The battle still raged on — No one thought of the dying men, When the day must still be won! So the soldier boy lay suffering there, And he said: "Where is my God, Whom I worshipped in my old home church, On my blessed, native sod?" Hark! in answer to that fervent prayer, He heard a rushing noise; ^ It was a Red Cross ambulance. Sent to save our dying boys. Twelve THE CAI.L, OF THE RED CROSS A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE The st>ldier thought them angel forms Dressed all in purest white, "Their cross," he cried, "is the cross of God, Who maketh all things right!" So they touched with skillful, kindly hands, That wounded soldier boy, And they brought him back to life once more To love and home and joy. O, remember fathers, mothers, all! That your dear son or mine. May be lying on the battlefield In some distant foreign clime. May call upon his God and frtends To send him some relief, O, friends! You all would lisiten then Or 'twould cause you lasting grief. So help this noble Red Cross work, For the soldiers are yours and mine, And let no true American His share of work decline. Thirteen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE UNITED SERVICE Ho Sammy, With the helmet Made of good old solid steel ! They tried to crack your head, those Huns And how you make them squeal ! Ho Jackie with the sailor suit And your wonderful old guns ! You sank ithe cursed submarines And tricked the frightened Huns. That camouflage upon our ships — They looked like Totem poles, — But when a "U" boat ventured near, Jack filled her full of holes. And oh, you little Aces Flying o'er the battle scene! The boches felt the bombs you dropped And heard our eagle scream. He screamed so loud and shrill and clear. It made the Kaiser run To Holland with his keg of beer. Which cheers the fallen Hun. So when the "Sammies" finally reached Berlin for a short stay, They swept out German "Kultur" 'Til the devil flew away. O gallant U. S. Service men To you our praise is due! Not all of Europe's courts or kings Can show such lads as you. Fourteen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE SOLDIERS PRAYER Dedicated to the Mothers of the Soldiers and Sailors of America by the author, Mrs. Allen E. Smith Mother of mine at the garden gate, While I am "Somewhere in France," I see you watching early and late Altho' there is never a chance That your own loved son Will come home soon, — He is here to do or die, For you and his country, mother dear, So stifle your gentle sigh. Mother of mine on bended knee, You taught me to pray and live; To cherish true ideals for mankind, To serve so that men can live. And so I am going this very night To chance it "Over the Top," And I shall gain victory through your prayers, For I know they will not stop. For there never was a German shell, That could silence this heart of mine. The love and faith that lie within Shall live till the end of time. God keep you safely, mother of mine. And all good women true ! The hope of a country virile and fine. Grows straight from women like you. Fifteen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE So "over the top" went the soldier boy, In the thick of the Hun's hell-fire, Wihere the bursting shrapnel found its way, And the screaming shells rose higher. And tho' he was wounded deep and hard He managed to fire a mine, And "did his bit" as a soldier should, Then crawled to his own trench line. Oh, the night's of darkness came to him then Till he reached the valley of death — But the mother off in America Prayed with each fervent breath; And God in his mercy heard the prayers For although the lad lost an arm, The cross of valor is on his breast And the hero LIVES, safe from harm. Sixteen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE M/SS COLUMBIA War Song— 1917 -April O, my soldier boy in khaki You are going off to France, And the band is playing onesteps At this military dance;; But I do not feel like dancing, For you've, come to say "goodbye" So I stand' here in the moonlight, Trying bravely not to cry. Chorus. Cheer ! cheer 1 the boys in khaki Marching off to France; They will surely win the war, Now that they have the chance. Hail, hail, Columbia! She brings freedom where she goes 'Tis liberty for all mankind As everyone well knows. Ah the world has grown dreary How I'll miss you when you're gone; But you tell me to be cheery, Just to help the boys along. So I'll wave aloft "Old Glory" With a cheer for every star And I know that you will hear me When you're in the midst of war. Seventeen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Ah, you gallant boys in Khaki Marching bravely off to France ! Leaving loved ones here behind you While you fearlessly advance. 'Tis the same, old Yankee Spirit That v(7as here in "76", Sons and husbands, sweethearts, brothers, Laboring classes, sons of rich. As; you shoulder gun or rifle For our own, dear native land ; We will cheer you to the echo. There was never sight so grand ! And Columbia, your Columbia Hides the pain w'ithin her* heart. As she watches your departure Knowing well you'll do your part. Chorus. Eighteen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE TO AN ACE I hear the whirring of thy wings Icarus of the air! Thou art half man and yet half bird And strange beyond compare. No swallow in its airy flight Can dart more gracefully; Thy wings seemed formed of feathers light To skim across the sea. O, wondrous age in which we live, Where men can fly at will, Can chain the forces Nature owns. And use them with rare skill! So here's to you brave airmen. In your khaki suits of tan, Crusaders in the realm of air And gallant to a man ! Nineteen A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE KNITTING BRICADEr-J9I7 I watched a group of pretty maidens, Girls of "nineteen seventeen," As they sat with hands well laden With knitting needles and worsted skeiin. Each face bore an earnest purpose, Eyes were busy a's well as hands. Knitting, weaving for friend or sweetheart "Doing his bit" in distant lands. As they worked they laughed and chatted, Lively as birds in the sun's warm rays. But once in a while there fell a silence. As memory turned to other days. Days when those absent boys in khaki Sat among them in careless joy; Now; where are they and what are they doing. God protect each gallant boy! Some girls were knitting worsted sweaters. Another a muffler warm and gray, And I know that a pfayer and a tear fell on them At the thought of the loved one far away. Brave little girls,^ your boy^ dream of you, Keeping the home fires burning bright; In the gloom of the dreary trenches, Thoughts of yoa bring celestial light. So knit, knit for the absent "Sammies," Send them comforts warm and strong. The touch of the soft, warm wool they are made of Will feel like the clasp of hands at home. Mothers, sisters, friends and sweethearts, American women one and all. Ye have risenl nobly to aid the loved ones And answer the nation's clarion call. Twenty A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSED THE EUROPEAN WOMEN'S WAR TAX. 1915 Alone I sit and watch, this dreadful night, My spirit shrinks within me with affright, I hear the booming of the big siege guns And know the Earth is losing noble: sons. One month since Jean went to this cruel war, And now I sit and listen from afar And wonder shall I ever see him more Or has death sealed for me the bridal door? Last Summer, Ah ! 'twas not so long ago When all the earth seemed fair, no sound of woe, Came to disturb the beauty of the scene Where first I heard the love-song of my Jean. The moon was shining on that radiant night While happy lovers dancedj in her soft light; And Nightingales trilled softly in the grove Singing of peace, of happiness and love. Hark I without, the shrieking of a shell An instrument devised by fiends from hell. Could they but see the damage when 'tis i done 'Twould cause the very evilest to run. 'Tis morning, and the pale sun shines on high As if 'twere sacrilege to grace the sky. When mankind has this lust for war and sin 'Twere better that the light of sun grow dim. Twenty-one A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE I hear the tramping* of a hundred feet A sound of soldiers marching through the street. Haste ! I will draw the window casement wide — Jean ! have you come at last to seek your bride ? Yes, he has come — his comrades stand below They enter in the court-yard soft and slow. What isj this thing within me, leaden weight That seems to turn my life and soul to hate. I am not 'struck by bullet, 'tis no scar Only the "tax" we women pay to war. Christ show us mercy! bid this poor heart cease. Take all the women too or give us peace. Twenty-two A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE EASTER. 1919 "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." — 1st Cor. 15:25. In the hush of Easter morning Before the break of dawn, While the scent of Easter lilies Perfumes the morning calm; Came the voice of a glorious Presence Pervading the earth and sky; "I am the resurrection and the life Arise, all ye who sigh 1" "Mothers and wives and children All who have suffered loss, Come ye to me in your agony To the shadow of the cross Look in the gleam of the dawning See ye a mighty throng? They are the souls of your heroes great Who have' suffered and conquered wrong. "They live, O, ye who sorrow Tho' their bodies lie over in France; That which ye knew and loved the most Beholds you with loving glance They live, ah, dearer than ever And 'tis but a step they have gone — So arise all ye who sorrow On this great resurrection mom 1" Think not thef Lord who made heroes Will suffer such souls to die — They have only taken one step beyond The reach of mortal eye. So join in their heavenly anthem Uplifting your souls in praise And the Peace of this Easter morning Shall glorify all your days. Twenty-three A-'lITTL^EBOOK of AMERICAN VERSE CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD HOME TOWN Christmas "nineteen-nineteen," And our brave soldier boys are at home; The trenches are robbed of their prey ats last, And the season of cheer has come. How we welcome these brave young heroes, *Tho iseldom a word they say, When questioned aibout those grim war times, When Death stalked them every day. They seem to be so glad to forget The rack and ruin "over there." When on the dear home faces they gaze With wonderful intent stare. And the clasp of their manly hands Tells the story to us at home, Of the burden these splendid boys have borne When they faced grim death in the "zone." So never' mind the questions. Praise God, they are home at last! Give them the best that we have here. And let them forget the past. Tell them how greatly you missed them (While you help them to Christmas cheer.) It's Thanksgiving and Chriistmas rolled into one, To have the dear fellows here. , Twenty-four A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Old Christmas was never so merry — 'Til we gaze on "the vacant chair," Then our eyes become dim with emotion For the loss each heart must share. But I know were he among us, He would be the gayest of all, For Christmas time in the- old home town 'Was the time he loved best of all. So wreathe his chair with holly, girls, And set his card a/t his place; His spirit will still be with us, When we offer our Christmas grace. 'Give thanks for our noble soldiers, We can spend our Christmas at home, With quiet minds and grateful hearts, That peace unto all has come. Twenty-five A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE MISS AMERICA'S GALLANT BOYS IN THE NAVY War Song I sit alone in the twilijiht in the shadows dim and gray, And I dream of my swectlieart sw^iling on the ocean far away. My bonny boy, in his suit of bhie ; With his manly heart so good and true, We shall win tlie war if they're all like you, My sailor boy in the Navy ! Chorus Ho! wliat does he care for a periscope, With the good guns near and a heart of oak; With tlie submarine devils he's able to cope. Our gallant blue boys in the Navy. Sing ho ! for the boys in the suits of blue, Our gallant blue boys in the Navy ! I dearly like our soldiers, but the sailor lad "gets me," With his ready smile to greet you, like the sunlight on the seas. His ship is his well loved palace; "No trenches for me," says he; "I like the smell of the good salt air, And the grand old ocean free 1" — Chorus. So when the war is over, and our warships turn towards home, Each sweetheart will be waiting for her own dear lad's return. With flags and banners flying. How we'll bless the happy day When Jack is home from service. And he gaily treads Broadway. Twenty-six A LITTLK BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE A SOLDIER BOY'S WIRELESS TO THE CIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM Tho' lifo is lonj^ and you and I have met To tread tho parted way. Yet must I hold one vain one lasti regret, Thajt silence held us that last golden day. To me, the soul within your violet eyes Told more than did the few, sweet words you said. The very air breathed of your dear replies Altho' trite language fled. Rut now, when I am here in distant land And never more beloved, shall see your face, Speak to the v^nnd, or with your own dear hand Send me your love through space. Twenty-seven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE it DE PROFUNDIS The tragedy of a "basket case" I possessed all blessings : Life, love, money and health The best of all. Then came the "great adventure" — The call of war, which stirs the blood of men More than love, or wealth or hate. O, the stai^ shells, I see them falling ! Falling, ever falling! And the liquid fire searing and burning While the devilish boches leap, and hide. Hide and leap, like rats in thd. fires of hell! And the friends who went with me — Jack and Larry, both as gay. As when we trod the primrose path Along the "Great* White .Way." We joked 'mid the thynder of the guns And the shrapnels deadly play. How we laughed in rough defiance And swapped stories of our doings : "When we return again to God's own country." Then Jack '"went West" and Larry too And I fought on alone. Alone — without my friends. Yet their brave spirits fought by my side, They nerved my arm, and gave me keener sight And all went well, until one night — That cursed shell dropped near me And made me as I am — ^ I have al voice, can speak. Yet that is all — I'm noti a man. Twenty-eight A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE JEAN IE IN THE HEATHER The shells are scream'm' round me, and we're fightin', fightin' mad, And there's many a mon w'ho's dropped beside me wore the Highland plaid. For we'f'e here on -foreign shores, afightin' for our King; Our King, our country and our friends — the Allies. When night comes on and we are huddled in a trench An' I listen to the stories of the English and ithe French, Then I see my Scottish highlands in fair and stormy weather. And I dream of you, my Jeanie, a-standin' in the heather. I ken auld Rob McGregor, a-drivin' all his sheep, An' Don, the Collie's chasing them, with many a joyful leap; While Sandy in his kilties is playin' on the pipes And the lads and lassies dancin' in the gloaming. But I'll come to you, Jeanie, when this cruel war shall pass, An' we'll gang to Kirk together, my bonnie highland lass! For it's true you are and beautiful — not changeful like the weather. You hold the very heart of me, my Jeanie, in the heather. Our captain picked a daisy in a field the other day, And wondered as he gazed at it what "Bobbie Burns" would say. For, oh, 'twas "crimson tipped" — but not the natural way, — With the blood of a gallant highland laddie. Twenty-nine A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE We wrapped his plaid around him as we bore him from the field, For he had met a soldier's fate through a brave and gallant deed ; A smile was on the laddie's face, Ms hands were clasped together And in his coat above his heart, lay a spray of Scottish heather. So we'll send the spray to Jeanie (altho' 'tis more than sad). And hope that in another world she'll meet her highland lad ; Tho' men by hundred thousands have perished in this war. The spirit of true loves lives on, to guide us like a star. In Memory of The Highland Lads. Thirty THE BOY SCOUTS' DRIVE A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE BOY SCOUTS' DRIVE 1917—1918 Wake up people! and you will hear The call of the Boy Scouts loud and clear. They are marching along with an object in view, To sell the Liberty Bonds to you. Oh, the dear, good fellows over in France, Bill and Charley, Allen and Vance, And all the rest, — ^yes every one Who has left this land to fight the Hun. They look to the Boy Scouts over here. To smooth the way and make things clear. By selling the bonds and selling the stamps They help our soldiers "Somewhere in France." So here we come with plenty of pep — Boy Scouts! LIBERTY BONDS! yep! yep! yep! Please take a Bond for the boys over there, You won't lose a cent and it shows that you care. Read Mrs. Allen E. Smith's poem on the Boy Scouts Drive. "You won't lose a cent and it shows that you care." Her poem is an eloquent, patriotic plea in a nutshell, and her simple prayer leaves nothing unsaid : "Please take a bond for the boys 'over there,* you won't lose a cent and it shows that you care."— Editor. 1917. Thirty-one A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE IMP There was a 1>oy, I knew him well; A regular little imp, He used to tease his sister And icall his brother: "that poor simp." He nearly drove his parents wild With various daring tricks. His father had to round him up With several good hard licks. The jam was kept with lock and key, The cat would hide at sight. His sister's beau when Jim came round Would vanish in a freight. His brother's neckties were purloined; Likewise his dad's silk socks. He borrowed sister's wrist watch And set back the household clocks. And when the Ladies Aid would meet At mother's, once a month, ': They'd find a tack an every seat And miss just half their lunch. Jim's clothes would be real soakrn' wet When we dressed for Sunday school, Which used to upset mother's nerves And rile Dad, as a rule. There never was a layer cake That was quite safe from Jim, And when the parson came to dine He'd mostly preach at him. And send Sis for the Bible To read a text or two; When to their horror they would find Whole chapters isealed — ^with glue. Thirty-two A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Oh, then the awful looks that were Directed right at Jim! It used to make me feel quite glad I wasn't made like him. Jim did so many daring things, I know they'd fill a book, From opening feather pillows To writing love poems for the cook. Then when we entered in the War Jim left us on a run, To fight for our brave Allies And to squelch the bloody Hun. And mother, she looked dreadful pale, While Sis, she looked so sad; And Dad he took four papers, Seeking news of his dear lad. Gee! the house was awful slow, Because we all missed Jim. The days dragged on so long and dull; The very sun seemed dim. Then came a day, an awful day! When a short black line we read : "James Westlake — Killed in action." And we knew that Jim was dead. Our hearts were wrung with anguish. How we missed him, no one knows! And I, "Poor Simp," his brother, Fairly wept o'er his old clothes. Our khaki-clad young hero. One who never seemed to rest. Has left his family lonely. When he took the road "out west." Thirty-three A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE A cable from the front Told of bravery unexcelled; While a cross of honor reached us When his "services" were held. And from Parson to his teachers, Each old friend would weep for Jim, Telling stories of his boyish pranks So full of life and vim. Then with heavy hearts we slowly took The road which led to home, Each head was bowed with sorrow For our brother who haid gone. The house door slowly opened, In the hall 'mid shadows dim Stood a figure clad in khald. Is it, can — it — be — our Jim? Yes 'twas Jim, thougih by his pallor You would hardly think 'twas he, And it was another James Westlake Who died across the sea. Our Jim, tho' wounded has returned, And the cross we got was his, "For gallantry in action," And he lives, our Jimmy lives ! We should have known that things connected With our Jim get mixed; He'd met another soldier With the same name, at Gamp Dix, And the two had chummed together ; In the trenches "over there," Both were very brave in action; Both received the "Croix de Guerre." Thirty-four A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Now that our Jim's come back to us, With a new light in his eyes, We are looking for his tricks again, But he takes' us by surprise. He has met the "Great Adventure" And it seemed to quiet him, While the friendships made with heroes Casts a halo over Jim. I know I'll never have the sand To run away like Jim, And perhaps it takes a little imp To capture men of sin, But w^en the Boches met our boys They got licked so darned quick. They came to know Americans Can even whip Old Nick. And maybe Jim's a little imp. But when I come to' die, I hope we'll go together, So he'll always be near by. And a boy's idea of heaven Ain't just angels and white clothes. But it's soldiers dressed in khaki! Just as every fellow knows. Thirty-five A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN .VERSE FLOWERS TO THE LIVING We raise monuments to lost heroes We istrew roses iot the dead, But O, forget not the living Who have fought and suffered and bled! The hero who lives near us, With maimed and shattered limb — Whom we pass by, with a glance of the eye While he stumps along — what of him? Turn your thoughts to the men left sightless Bereft of the light of day, Let us remember them, my friends, And help them along the dark way. And the boys who left home and positions, So strong in their pride of youth — By our helpful acts, and our spoken word Let our gratitude tell them the truth. Thirty-six A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE DARKTOWN LULLABY Close yo eyes mah pickininny You must go toe sleep, Mammy am a watch in' While de stars begin to peep; Yo am jest de nicest Little chocolate drop I know, In a gown like ice cream Dat am jest as white as snow. Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go— go — ^go. Daddy am de bravest man Dat sailed across to France, Wid de cullud regiment He'll make dem boches dance! When he rolls dem great big eyes An walks so awful fine I guess dey'll make him colonel When our President gets time. Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go — go — go. Moonlight am a shinin' On de roses by de door, Yaller dog am playin* Wid his shadow on de floor; But dey ain't no ban jo' si playin' Since yo daddy's gone to wah An' it's lonsome here a-prayin' Dat de Lord will spare him shore. Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go — go — ^go. But never mind mah honey We both is doin' fine. If we is "Sunburned Americans" Dis wah doan make us whine. We'll hoe de corn an' 'taters An* tend de mellion vine. An* knit socks for yo daddy Who has gone toe cross de Rhine. Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go — go — ^go. Thirty-seven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE A PLEA FOR PEACE Oct. 4tli, 1914 The call of War surrounds the earth, A message straight from Sheol, The imati is mad who gave it forth And caused mankind to fall. Tho' monarchs of the earth there be, One man should not have pov^^er To drain the blood' of thousands, In civilization's briglhtest hour. A million wailing children, The widow's streaming eyes, Are protests to the Universe, Against a despot's lies, "Christian Rulers," some are called; They mock the Prince of Peace, Wiho (bring this warfare on the earth And know not when 'twill cease! The pride-ful toys of modern war. Must make the angels weep, To see destruction's mighty scar O'er earth's fair bosom sweep. To drop the bombs from Zeppelins high On humble iHttle homes, Tearing the flesh of wife and child. Leaving the shuddering bones. Once more we need Thee, Christ, on earth. Oh harken to our call! Lest men stoop lower than the beast And lose the good in all. Oh! let us send our tears and prayers For peace across the sea, And help us lighten their great cares. Father, we ask of Thee. This poem was written Oct., 1914, "Peace Sunday," just two months after the commencement of the "great War." The /poem 'was read in church on that day and it waisi a true prediction of" what happened later on. Thirty-eight A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE DISCERNMENT To D. B. S. How people strive and fret and fume To change conditions, make things right; And yet within Life's wondrous loom The woven strands are dark and light. We seek abroad for tropic flowers With gorgeous colors, perfume rare, All heedless of our own home bowers Where roses bloom with lilies fair. Man wanders forth in quest of friend, Believing distant heroes great, And often finds out ' in the end True merit stood within his gate. Some women seek; with eager hands The baubles which they crave from life; Throwing aside the things of worth. Hardening their natures in the strife. The humble friend with heart of gold Who in our deepest sorrow stands Firm as a Christian knight of old With steady eyes and willing hand. This is the soul, who like the flower That grows within our garden fair. Serenely stands each day and hour The test which friendship has to bear. Environment ! how many sins Are charged unjustly to thy name. When 'tis discernment that we lack To know real friends or merit fame. Thirty-nine A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE MY LITTLE BOY ALLEN The front door bangs, I hear a voice, A voice that always gives me joy : "Where are you Mother? Mother dear! I'm home from school," calls my little boy. I look into his honest eyes That are the color of the sky. The smile upon his little face Would drive away my deepest sigh. "Mother, here is my report, There's eight good 'A's' on it today. You know you said tol me last month. You wished the 'A's' had come to stay. "And so I tried my very best To do just as the teacher sa'id; I tell you some things seemed quite hard, I lalmost thought they'd bust my head. "Now does it please you, Mother dear?" The pleading look in his dear eyes, With tight embrace of inky hands. Was just a taste of Paradise. Dear Lord who knoweth great and small, Who judgeth actions good or bad, Bless Thou the loving work of one Who does his best — my little lad. And when in future years to come, His Mother's form has passed away, O, save him Lord from grievous harm And let h'im know my sympathy. Forty A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE FOUR NATURE SONGS California The Deer The Call of May Autumn California California! my own best beloved State. Thou richest Eldorado truly great, The bounteous gifts v^hioh Nature gave to thee Are strewn from north to south most lavishly. Snow-capped Sierras raise their lordly heads, And down below the glowing poppy beds, Turn the warm earth a living, liquid gold; The State's real oriflamme doth here unfold. Yosemite, a valley fit for God, No fairer place hath foot of man ere trod; With glistening sheen of water falls so high, As if the liquid poured from azure sky. It is as if a veil were drawn aside, Bidding us gaze on Heaven's gate set wide; While giant trees like sentinals on guard, Warn all vandal feet from verdant sward. Mighty Sequoia trees, seventh wonder of the agel Centuries ago, the world was your stage. And you saw things which men no longer know. We venerate the place wherein you grow. The glowing sunsets of the Golden Gate, Where Great Pacific meets his little mate; The waters of fair San Francisco Bay, Here mingle with the mighty ocean's spray. Forty-one A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Then turn to Southern California transcendent, fair, TOiere orange groves perfume the balmy air, And flowers in wild profusion everywhere Make homes for feathered choirsters to share. And yet the best of all, O generous State! Are the rich gifts you shower on small and great Fruits of the "Promised Land" beyond compare. Gold from your bosom, deep shines rich and rare. Your air has cured mankind who hopeless came, Raised them from death to strength and life again; Their sons and daughters adorn your golden name And give to you enduring, deathless fame. Homesick? Yes, often have I breathed a sigh, When memory brings the thought of your clear sky. Yet the contrast in thisl land of ice and snow Hath taught me to appreciate you so. The Deer The rushes part above the brook, Some creature is gently creeping Amidst the wild flowers and the ferns. Two soft brown eyeis are peeping. He steps into the water's rush, Which sparkles cool and clear, And stands — a model for the brush, A graceful, spotted deer. shy wild creature of the wood, 1 love to watch each motion, The startled glance, the lifted foot, The hurried, swift commotion. Forty-two A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE Wihen falling leaf or dropping twig, The slig'htest turn or twist, Shall cause him to take quick alarm, And vanish like the mist. The Call of Ma^ The maple leaves are waving In the sky so soft and blue, And robins hopping o'er the earth Find plenty work to do. The little mate within the nest Is waiting patiently The efforts of her tiny spouse To feed her gallantly. For Spring has come — and all the earth Is thrilling with new life, The rich, brown soil is warm again And ready for the strife. I hear the children's voices Singing gaily while they play, They feel the kindly influence Of this sweet month of May. And that's why poets 'round the earth Write of the sweet Springtime, It strikes the chord melodious That causes them to rhyme. And you, O city toilers, Confined within four walls, I think of you with sympathy Whenever Nature calls. Forty-three A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE For man should have what is his due, The fields and trees of green, The sky so blue, the running hrook, The happy pastoral scene. Autumn Swallows are flying away to the southland, Strong winds are blowing the leaves from the trees^ All the late flowers of Summer are dying. Touched by the sting of the sharp Autumn breeze. But blue is the sky as the eyes of a maiden. And free is the air from the warm Summer haze. And oh, we step lightly because we feel; brightly The wholesome effect of these wonderful days. And so there's a reason for each changing season. And much to be happy for every new day, For life holds a wealth of good, if it be understood. Cherish it closely 'ere it pass away. Forty-four A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THEODORE ROOSEVELT At last, old warrior, thou hast met the unconquerable foe! That foe which spares no man however great. Thy doughty head at last is lying low, Thy virile form has meet the common fate. Suddenly death came in silence of the night, When friends believed thee sleeping and at ease; And clasping thee with firm tho' gentle might Bore thy brave spirit to the land of peace. And all the nation grieves — for thou wert great ! American! in every thought and plan. Deploring thy inevitable fate. United we exclaim : "Here lies a man !" Courageous, brilliant, dominant, you gave All that you had — even your four sons. While like an old war-horse your spirit brave Rose at the call : "To arms !" and sound of guns. When we recall the past: thy deeds of worth As statesman, warrior, author, traveler, friend; We thank the Lord who placed thee on this earth And know the world griieves, at this — thy end. Forty-five A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE TO EDISON Edison! when I behold thy massive head The replica of mighty emperor long since dead, No longer do I wonder thou art iso great — Re-incarnation opened wide the gate, And you stepped forth once more upon this earth To bless miankind with gifts of wondrous worth. Oh, we have men of: noble worth, each name That's writ within our templed Hall of Fame, Hath added to the splendor of our race And earned for native land an honored place. But thou O Edison,, who secrets gave. Mysterious, powerful — this side the grave We common mortals never would have learned The marvels your great genius hath discerned. Forty-six A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE At a Reading Club of which the author was a member, a "Riley Evening" was given. Several selections from J. Whit- comb Riley's poems were read, and then the following original verse was contributedi by the author. After the meeting, the IX)em was sent to Mr. Riley and a beautiful letter was received in reply. This was shortly before Mr. Riley's death. A READING CLUB POEM The Reading Club has met to-n'ight To praise a literary light, A man who never puts things dryly The noted poet, Whitcomb Riley. His poems are of the* simple life, The common things — Wherein the strife For worldly honors, riches, fame, Are not the only things to gain. "A Little Cripple," "A Rainy Day," "A Small Hop-toad," Who chanced to stray; Are all fit subjects, for his pen He sings of these as well as men. So in that niche within our heart Where loved authors play their part. We place this poet and rate him highly The kindly genius, J. Whitcomb Riley. Forty-seven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE IN MEMORIAM James Whitcomb Riley, Thou hast at last passed on, Beloved, revered, Indiana's best loved son. Full many a heart Hath brightened at thy song; They heard and loved thee well- A mighty throng. In Fame's great Hall Where men are rated highly, We place thy poet's name, James Whitcomb Riley. And yet thy greatest Monument of worth, Will be the sorrowing hearts Throughout the earth. Forty-eight A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE PHILOSOPHIC FARMER Things ain't quite so dreadful But what they might be worse, It's better to ride in a trolley car Then 'tis to ride in a hearse. What if them lautomobiles Is runnin' free like mice^ — When they have one of them accidents It don't make folks look nice! I sorter craved an aeroplane To git in it an' fly; I reckoned it would be right fine To sail up in the sky. But the one I saw at the county fair, It took a mighty fall, An* when that aeroplane struck earth There wa'n't no man at all. 'Twas Lincoln said : "Us common folks Must be beloved by God, Because He made so many of us Tillers of the sod." Maybe we're blest an' maybe we ain't. But I don't lay awake at night, Aworrying over finance When the money market's tig'ht. Forty-nine A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE But I git Up in the morning To the singin' of the birds, (There ain't no finer singers In the operys that I've heard.) An' I eat a whopping breakfast Of ham an' buckwheat cakes, That would make them noted financeers Fill up with pains an' aches. An' I whistle to my collie While I start out in ithe sun. An' I thank the God above me That the day's work has begun. Wal, it's good to be a farmer An' it's! good to be alive. For 'twas God who made the country But the city man contrived. Fifty A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE TO DORIS Of all the babies in the Park There are none like baby Doris, Her voice is sweeter than the lark And when she laughs the angels hark, To happy little Doris. When she is grown, I know she'll sing, And that will make the welkin ring Like birds within the forest. May future years their guerdon bring Of health and love and everything To bless the life of Doris ! Fifty-one A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE A TWIN LAKES IDYL O, the sunrise on a mountain lake In the glorious month of June, Where purple headed mounta'ins break Through the rosy tint of morn. To float along with a merry song In a swift "Oldtown" canoe, Far away from the city's throng Is the life for me — and you. The water lilies bloom at our hand With chalices snowy^ white. While overhead a bluebird band Carol along in their flight. Watch the speckled pickerel jump. For a daring bottle fly ! If you know how to "cast" your good steel rod Your breakfast await nearby. Had ever water such silvef sheen Or sky such liquid blue? It is fit for you, my sylvan queen, In the bow of your green canoe. So let us float in our little boat To the land of dryad and faun, There is magic in the Berkshire Hills, In the dewy hours of dawn. Fifty-two A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN V E R S El WHY WOMEN SHOULD VOTE We'll work for Equal Suffrage Until the dawn of light When man shall grant to womenkind What is her equal right. *Tis woman brings the man on earth — Her thoughts inborn in him, Uplift his soul to greatness And teach the fallacy of sin. The mother's kindly counsel Her suffering and her pain, Has all redounded for man's good He is her highest aim. Then why not give to women the vote Her mind's as great to plan Justice to humanity, For woman, child oi^ man? *Tis only lack of civilization That causes men to quote : "Women are the inferior sex We shall not let them vote." That is the cave man's attitude To rule her with a club. To keep a woman in "her place" Only to cook and scrub. Fifty-three A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE When women help to make the law They need not shirk the home. God g-ave them minds as well as men, To think and plan and form. So the mind of woman Has soared aloft, She has harnessed to a star; Her day of liberty has dawned Real freedom is not far. She is man's true companion In home, in soul, in mind. Her "rights" should stand the same as his In every generous mind. Fifty-four A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE The New Jersey State Federation of Women's Qubs, which at present has a membership of 29 thousand women, held a competition a few years ago for the words of a song for the Federation. Mrs. Allen E. Smith won the compe- tition with the following song which is still a favorite at club meetings and large conventions : FEDERATION SONG (Air: Onward, Christian Soldiers). Forward, sisters, forward. This is Woman's Day; Life and light and freedom Guide us on our way; Womanhood and wifehood Let us glorify, Intellect and reason Now shall have full sway. Chorus Forward, sister, forward. Strong in hope are we. Nature made us women, God has made us free! Let us help within our home Help to mould the State, Strive to form a nation, Make it truly great. Purity in woman Makes her sons sublime, Let us raise the standard, Till the end of Time I Fifty-five A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE NOEL I love the olden story That Christ came down in glory, On Christmas night in Bethlehem So many years ago. The angel hosts were singing, "Peace on earth" was ringing, And every heart was joyful; In homes of high and low. While Jesus meek and holy In a manger lying lowly, The wisdom of the ages Locked within His tiny hreast. His mother bent above Him She worshipped Him and loved Him, And holding Him in reverent awe She hardly dared caress. Two thousand years have passed 'since then The Son of God is here again. We celebrate this glorious day That brought us Christ to show the way. Peace and good w'ill He taught to all, Good will and peace lest mankind fall, 'Oory to God" the world sings, Brotherhood the Master brings. Fifty-six AXITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THANKSGIVING The feast of America, Thanksgiving Dayl Founded by Puritans, Men who could pray. Thanks for the spirit Of those hardy men, Chosen by God, An "advance guard" for him. To found a great nation whose source was pure faith, And make of Americans A true Christian race. Success has attended Our land since its birth, The firmest foundation Sustains it on earth. Thanks for our liherty Granted by God; He made men and women free 'Ti's our watchword. Thanks for the fruits Of this wonderful land, Great in resources, Ours to command. Peace we should hold unto. Justice be given, Mercy to fellow-men, Thanks unto heaven ! Fifty-seven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE LAST SCORE I found in my walk this morning A little red book, a *golf score*, Dropped by a college man no doubt, Well up in sports galore. Most of the pages hold records of 'scores', But part of them, can you guess? Are pencil sketches of one girl's face In a medley of changes in dress. He has drawn her gracefully 'puitting' Her ball where she thinks it will go. But alas! her expression on the following page Is an encyclopedia of woe. Next she is dressed in a ball gown, With neck like a Gibson girl, And ah, what is this twixt the pages? A tiny chestnut curl. The perfume of violets is stealing From the leaves of this little red book. So to turn one more page in the story Finds a flower from some shady nook. Alas, in my haste drops a clipping Which I see at a glance is well read. And I learn from this small piece of paper That the girl of his heart is wed. Fifty-eight A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE COMMUNITY MEETING Christ did not say, "Blind man what is thy creed?' Before he touched those vacant, sightless eyes. And waiting, he paused to hear the widow plead: "Saviour! in mercy, let my dead son rise." Healing and teaching all, He went His way. Listening to every call both night and day. If we are Christians true, then should we ask : "Tell me your creed, or are you in my class?" And yet all creeds are good — to various eyes They point the different roads to Paradise, So when together we shall meet at last And things of earthly moment shall have passed, O, what a mighty anthem will arise To fill with music sweet the radiant skies. Love in our hearts to all; that is the key. That opens wide the great Eternity The kindly glance, the loving word of cheer That falls on aching heart or lonely ear So shall we meet in blest community, The love of Christ awaits for you and me. Fiffy-nine A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE LOVE Poets always sang of Love Ever since the world began, It seems the ever favorite theme Placed before the eyes of man. So let me tell you what it is And see if you will not agree, That it is just the sweetest thing That ever came to you or me. It is the perfume of the rose, The glowing simset in the sky, The purest air on mountain top. The music that will never die. The keynote of the human heart On which the chord of Life is played, When two who long have lived apart Have met in loves own, fond enibrace. Sixty A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE TRUST Sometime when friends you thitik are true Take on a grouch and knock at you, Keep smiling, — there is another day; The darkest clouds soon pass away. The ones who strike you in the dark, Seldom hit right on the mark; The very shaft they aim at you, Will oft rebound and hurt them too. So try the magic of a smile, (One full of kindness, not a guile) 'Twill oft disperse the mist of hate And change perhaps lan adverse fate. Perchance some friend is full of woe, Of trouble which he cannot show; And all his horizon is blue. Including his idea of you. Don't heed him friend, unless he tries To injure you with sinful lies, Which soon shall meet the ligiht of day Where men at large admire fair play. And if he doesi not change his line, Remember, there is a judgment time; Where camouflage and shoddy stuff Are judged along with other bluff. Reach grateful hands out to the sun Another day has just begun, The sun still shines on you and me If we but lift our eyes to see. Sixty-one A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE RECOMPENSE We all have known sorrow And suffered pain. Pursued great 'happiness Enjoyed great gain. As little children At their mother's knee, Send up to Heaven Each childish little plea. So do we crave to know And still to know — Altho' the answer Seemeth to be slow. Sometimes it seems That Justice veils her face, In portioning to us Our rightful place. And yet, I feel A confidence divine, That all shall be made clear In God's good time. So clear to me, dear friend, So clear to you, As sunrise shows The gleaming of the dew. As darkness fades away In morning light, So shall our larger vision Make things bright. And what has seemed So hard to understand, Shall lay before our eyes— The "Promised Land." Sixty-two A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE IN THE SILENCE I've been seeking Jesus, seeking, For that light that comes from Thee, Now I stand no longer weeping For Thy grace has set me free. In the long, long nights of darkness When I could not find the way; And doubt, with thorny sharpness, Caused my halting steps to stray. Oh, then the light of spirit Which I know is part of me, In the hush of a great silence Showed the way which leads to Thee. Sixty-three A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE A SAINT PATRICK'S DAY BALLAD Saint Patrick was a gentleman Who sailed across from France, And whin he struck old Ireland He lead thim quilte a dance. Whin he found all those wild Irishmen, So bold and rough and free, With niver a thought for God or man — He taught Christianity. And whin he saw the serpents Go wriggling on the ground, He ordered thim right off the Isle Where niver a wan is found. And the only time an Irishman Can iver see a snake, Is whin he takes la drop too much Sure, that is not a fake! For Irish boys and Irish girls Are full of joy and life As anyone can testify If he has an Irish wife. If you have one, you had best be up An* Kiss the "Blarney Stone," Or sure, she'll make it lively Whin you're late in getting home. Sixty-four A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE SALVATION, 1920 What is happening to our country with new strikes every day? Serene we stood in brotherhood, To all gave right of way. Has license cast out liberty Since profiteering's come? Good government, like charity, Begins for all — at home,. O native land, O native land, Heed thou the falling tear! What need have we for ''League" abroad When lack of peace is here? America, our own dear land Is full of wild unrest — What canker sore lies hid within Our nations throbbing breast. Tho' twenty thousand "leagues" were formed Of the nations on this earth, Each race prefers self-government Or feels itself accursed. And differences in ways and laws Are as old as life of man, *Tis only the millenium That will change the eternal plan. Sixty-five A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE In time of war, all brave good men Will answer to the call And the race that governs home the best Will lead the way for all. The lack of food, of clothes, of fuel, For wife and child at home, Turns men linto wildj human wolves Who rage and snarl and foam. And why is this thing possible In this land of the free? America, dear native land, Your answer give to me. We need an Abraliam Lincoln To once more lead the way, To light, and life and peace again Yes, he could save the day. A heart that beats for the oppressed And yet is just to all, Would guide the helm of state a-right And heed the nation's call. O Spirit of the Universe, Send us a mighty soul, To weld in bonds of brotherhood Our people as a whole. We proved our generous spirit To our brothers 'over there*, Let us now turn our thoughts to home Lest strife will be our share. Sixty-six A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE IN NEW YORK STREETS In New York streets the children grow Amidst the houses, row on row, Great caves of stone; and in the cold These flowers God sends us from the sky Dwell on the streets, their weary cry Unheard amidst the rush for gold. We are the children of the poor; Born in this squalor we endure. Christ is our brother, why should we Suffer and starve if we are free In New York Streets? Take up our quarrel with the foe The "profiteer" who lays us low; To you from baby hands we throw The torch. Be yours to hold it high For lack of milk and food we die 'Twas not for this our heroes lie In Flanders Fields. Sixty-seven A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE REINCARNATION I met a stranger on the street, We did not stop, we did not speak. And well I know, yes I am sure That never had we met before. Yet in the glance of passing eye, I saw true friendships swift reply; An aura as of pleasant hours, Spent amidst life's choicest bowers. O, stranger friend ! I wish I knew Which unknown planet held we two. What tuneful language pleased the ear When we conversed on distant sphere? The unknown soul we never meet Who passes us upon the street, Maybe a former friend of worth Who has returned once more to earth. In the swift glance of passing eyes The chord of memory replies, And tunefully sweeps the strings of Time, That strikes a melody sublime. Sixty-eight A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE A QUESTION In memory of K. M. R. O Thou who standeth at the gates of Paradise, To whom we Hft our sad and tearful eyes If this long road which seems so dark and gray Should cause us to destroy this useless clay, Shall we be doomed now and forever more Because we knocked too soon upon Thy door? I have been told that with Thee is all light, And I am weary of the long, long night — The flowers which Thou hast made (and I've been one) Cannot endure their life without the sun. Therefore because my life hath been so gray. Shall I be chided if I seek the day? Sixtx-nine A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE YOUTH Don't chide me for dancing, Mother, Let me sing as I go along, For the sky is so fair, the flowers so rare, And I feel so well and strong. Why, I like eveiy one I see For they all seem to smile on me. Oh! I've loved this old earth since the day of my birth And life seems good and free ! Seventy A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE INDEPENDENCE DAY July the Fourth is drawing near Our "Independence Day," Let all the population here Endeavor to be gay. With flags a flying, music playing, Crackers flying wild ! Our hearts should beat in quicker time Like many a happy child. Then let us toast those heroes old "Who fought to make us free. Their deeds still shine as bright as gold We cheer them heartily. We do not need a monarch's throne To raise our noble men — Our warriors bold, our heroes old Our knights of script and pen. "The pen is mightier than the sword" A wise man said of old — The wisdom of our President The national peace shall hold. Then shout for old July the Fourth! It dearer grows each year. Life holds nothing on this earth Like the freedom we have here. So let us hold it to our hearts And keep from Old World strife. We'll teach them what God's country's like By treasuring human life. Seventy-one A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE CASTLE OF PAIN A Call For A New Hackensack Hospital There stands a castle on a hillside Swept by the sun and rain, It has sheltered thousands in deep distress, I call it, The Castle of Pain. Weary and spent with suffering and woe, Humanity knocks at the gate. Hoping to check the dreaded foe And return to mans natural state. The castle's chatelaine in spotless white Opens the doorway wide, While skillful nurses tender and bright, The halting footsteps guide. The doctors and nurses give their best, And their service is not in vain ; For thousands have left restored to health From their stay at the Castle of Pa'in. But now the Castle is old and weak, And it needs a new dress of stone; Fireproof it must be made. And soundproof in every room. So to all who love their fellow men, Heed the Castle's call; "Help to build a New Hospital As a refuge for one and all !" To you who have money, give all you can To rebuild this good Castle of Pain, When you help the sick and suffering on earth Your life is not lived in vain. So make it a shining monument To the town of Hackensack, And to all the surrounding towns who help, The glory will all come back. Seventy-two A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE THE BERKSHIRE HILLS O, have you taken the "Mohawk Trail" On a glorious summer morn, Where the Berkshire Hills thru a purple veil Smile at the radient dawn ? Before the day in its raiment gay Has flooded the land with sun, Comes the Spirit of mist with a fairy kiss And awakens the sleeping Dawn. The air is so clear that one can hear Faint echoes from distant lands, While the waving trees, waft the mountain breeze A benison from Nature's hands. 'Great Barrington" with its charming "Inn" Where the weary can rest with ease ; Old Stockbridge fair whose colonial air The most critical eye must please. And Lenox the beaudful where Nature joins hands With most skillful hands of our race, The Garden of Eden could hardly seem fairer Than the home of this lovely place. Long vistas of poplar trees, stately and tall, And gardens a riot of flowers. Where in the midst stands a white marble dome, Or wonderful gray stone towers. Curious monuments left by the Indians, And "Twin Lakes" where they fished long ago; Are set like sapphires surrounded by emeralds Where as jewels, they sparkle and glow. As you motor along with the lilt of a song Thru the beautiful Berkshire Hills Your spirit revives in the air of the morn And frees you from all Life's ills. Seventy-three I