Part 2 (1/2)

His name was Kelly Ingram; he was Alabama's son, And he whistled ”Yankee Doodle,” as he stood beside his gun; There was laughter in his make-up, there was manhood in his face, And he knew the best traditions and the courage of his race; Now there's not a heart among us but should swell with loyal pride When he thinks of Kelly Ingram and the splendid way he died.

On the swift Destroyer Ca.s.sin he was merely gunner's mate, But up there to-day, I fancy, he is standing with the great.

On that grim day last October his position on the craft Was that portion of the vessel which the sailors christen aft; There were deep sea bombs beside him to be dropped upon the Hun Who makes women folks his victims and then gloats o'er what he's done.

From the lookout came a warning; came the cry all sailors fear, A torpedo was approaching, and the vessel's doom was near; Ingram saw the streak of danger, but he saw a little more, A greater menace faced them than that missile had in store; If those deep sea bombs beside him were not thrown beneath the wave, Every man aboard the Ca.s.sin soon would find a watery grave.

It was death for him to linger, but he figured if he ran And quit his post of duty, 'twould be death for every man; So he stood at his position, threw those depth bombs overboard, And when that torpedo struck them, he went forth to meet his Lord.

Oh, I don't know how to say it, but these whole United States Should remember Kelly Ingram--he who died to save his mates.

The Joy to Be

Oh, mother, be you brave of heart and keep your bright eyes s.h.i.+ning; Some day the smiles of joy shall start and you shall cease repining.

Beyond the dim and distant line the days of peace are waiting, When you shall have your soldier fine, and men shall turn from hating.

Oh, mother, bear the pain a-while, as long ago you bore it; You suffered then to win his smile, and you were happier for it; And now you suffer once again, and bear your weight of sorrow; Yet you shall thrill with gladness when he wins the glad to-morrow.

Oh, mother, when the cannons roar and all the brave are fighting, Remember that the son you bore the wrongs of earth is righting; Remember through the hours of pain that he with all his brothers Is battling there to win again a happy world for mothers.

He Should Meet a Mother There

If he should meet a mother there Along some winding Flanders road, No extra touch of grief or care He'll add unto her heavy load.

But he will kindly take her arm And tender as her son will be; He'll lead her from the path of harm Because of me.

Be she the mother of his foe, He will not speak to her in hate; My boy will never stoop so low As motherhood to desecrate.

But she shall know what once I knew-- Eyes that are glorious to see, The light of manhood s.h.i.+ning through-- Because of me.

He will salute her as they meet, And stand before her bare of head; If she be hungry, she may eat His last remaining bit of bread.

She'll find those splendid arms and strong Quick to a.s.sist her, tenderly, And they will guard her from all wrong Because of me.

I miss his thoughtful, loving care; I miss his smile these dreary days; But should he meet a mother there, Helpless and lost in war's grim maze, She need not fear to take his arm, As though she'd reared him at her knee; My son will s.h.i.+eld her from all harm Because of me.

A Father's Tribute

I don't know what they'll put him at, or what his post may be; I cannot guess the task that waits for him across the sea, But I have known him through the years, and when there's work to do, I know he'll meet his duty well, I'll swear that he'll be true.

I sometimes fear that he may die, but never that he'll s.h.i.+rk; If death shall want him death must go and take him at his work; This splendid sacrifice he makes is filled with terrors grim, And I have many thoughts of fear, but not one fear of him.

The foe may rob my life of joy, the foe may take my all, And desolate my days shall be if he shall have to fall.

But this I know, whate'er may be the grief that I must face, Upon his record there will be no blemish of disgrace.

His days have all been splendid days, there lies no broken trust Along the pathway of his youth to molder in the dust; Honor and truth have marked his ways, in him I can be glad; He is as fine and true a son as ever a father had.

Runner McGee

(Who had ”Return if Possible” Orders.)