Part 3 (1/2)

A Patriotic Creed

To serve my country day by day At any humble post I may; To honor and respect her Flag, To live the traits of which I brag; To be American in deed As well as in my printed creed.

To stand for truth and honest toil, To till my little patch of soil And keep in mind the debt I owe To them who died that I might know My country, prosperous and free, And pa.s.sed this heritage to me.

I must always in trouble's hour Be guided by the men in power; For G.o.d and country I must live, My best for G.o.d and country give; No act of mine that men may scan Must shame the name American.

To do my best and play my part, American in mind and heart; To serve the flag and bravely stand To guard the glory of my land; To be American in deed, G.o.d grant me strength to keep this creed.

His Room

His room is as it used to be Before he went away, The walls still keep the pennants he Brought home but yesterday.

The picture of his baseball team Still holds its favored spot, And oh, it seems a dreadful dream This age of sh.e.l.l and shot!

His golf clubs in the corner stand; His tennis racket, too, That once the pressure of his hand In times of laughter knew Is in the place it long has kept For us to look upon.

The room is as it was, except The boy, himself, has gone.

The pictures of his girls are here, Still smiling as of yore, And everything that he held dear Is treasured as before.

Into his room his mother goes As usual, day by day, And cares for it, although she knows Our boy is far away.

We keep it as he left it, when He bade us all good-bye, Though I confess that, now and then, We view it with a sigh.

For never night shall thrill with joy Nor day be free from gloom Until once more our soldier boy Shall occupy his room.

Envy

It's a bigger thing you're doing than the most of us have done; We have lived the days of pleasure; now the gray days have begun, And upon your manly shoulders fall the burdens of the strife; Yours must be the sacrifices of the trial time of life.

Oh, I don't know how to say it, but I'll never think of you Without wis.h.i.+ng I were sharing in the work you have to do.

I have never known a moment that was fraught with real care, Save the hurts and griefs of sorrow that all mortals have to bear; With the gay and smiling marchers I have tramped on pleasant ways, And have paid with feeble service for the gladness of my days.

But to you has come a summons, yours are days of sacrifice, And for all life has of sweetness you must pay a bitter price.

Men have fought and died before me, men must fight and die to-day, I have merely taken pleasures for which others had to pay; I have been a man of laughter, there's no path my feet have made, I have merely been a marcher in life's gaudy dress parade.

But you wear the garb of service, you have splendid deeds to do, You shall sound the depths of manhood, and my boy, I envy you.

For Your Boy and Mine

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall rest, But that our children after us shall know life at its best; For all we care about ourselves--a crust of bread or two, A place to sleep and clothes to wear is all that we'd pursue.

We'd tramp the world on sunny days, both light of heart and mind, And give no thought to days to come or days we leave behind.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall play, But that our children after us shall tread a merry way.

We brave the toil of life for them, for them we clamber high, And if 'twould spare them hurt and pain, for them we'd gladly die.

If we had but ourselves to serve, we'd quit the ways of pride And with the simplest joys of earth we'd all be satisfied.