Part 8 (1/2)
Oh, who will tend the roses now and who will sow the seeds?
And who will do the heavy work the little garden needs?
And who will tell the lad of mine the things he wants to know, And take his hand and lead him round the paths we used to go?
For it's charge, charge, charge, And it's face the foe once more; Forget the things you love the most And keep your mind on war.
Bigger Than His Dad
He has heard his country calling, and has fallen into line, And he's doing something bigger than his daddy ever did; He has caught a greater vision than the finest one of mine, And I know to-day I'm prouder of than sorry for the kid.
His speech is soft and vibrant with the messages of truth, And he says some things of duty that I cannot understand; It may be that I'm selfish, but this ending of his youth Is not the dream I cherished and it's not the thing I planned.
I only know he's bigger in his uniform to-day Than I, who stand and watch him as he drills, have ever been; That he sees a greater vision of life's purpose far away, And a finer goal to die for than my eyes have ever seen.
I wish I felt as he does, wish I had his sense of right; With the vision he possesses I should be supremely glad; But I sometimes start to choking when I think of him at night-- The boy that has grown bigger, yes, and better than his dad.
The Boy's Adventure
”Dear Father,” he wrote me from Somewhere in France, Where he's waiting with Pers.h.i.+ng to lead the advance, ”There's little the censor permits me to tell Save the fact that I'm here and am happy and well.
The French people cheered as we marched from our s.h.i.+p At the close of a really remarkable trip; They danced and they screamed and they shouted and ran, And I blush as I write. I was kissed by a man!
”I've seen a great deal since I bade you good-bye, I have witnessed a battle far up in the sky; I have heard the dull roar of a long line of guns, And seen the destruction that's worked by the Huns; Some scenes I'll remember, and some I'll forget, But the welcome he gave me! I'm feeling it yet.
Oh, try to imagine your boy if you can, As he looked and he felt, being kissed by a man!
”'Ah, Meestaire!' he cried in a voice that was shrill, And his queer little eyes with delight seemed to fill, And before I was wise to the custom, or knew Just what he was up to, about me he threw His arms, and he hugged me, and then with a squeak, He planted a chaste little kiss on each cheek.
He was stocky and strong and his whiskers were tan.
Now please keep it dark. I've been kissed by a man.”
Out of It All
Out of it all shall come splendor and gladness; Out of the madness and out of the sadness, Clearer and finer the world shall arise.
Why then keep sorrow and doubt in your eyes?
Joy shall be ours when the warfare is over; Children shall gleefully romp in the clover; Here with our heroes at home and at rest, We shall rejoice with the world at its best.
Not in vain, not in vain, is our bright banner flying; Not for naught are the sons of our fond mothers dying; The gloom and despair are not ever to last; The world shall be better when they shall have pa.s.sed.
So mourn not his absence, but smile and be brave; You shall have him again from the brink of the grave In a wonderful world 'neath a wonderful sun; He shall come to your arms with his victory won.
The Christmas Box
Oh, we have s.h.i.+pped his Christmas box with ribbons red 'tis tied, And he shall find the things he likes from them he loves inside, But he must miss the kisses true and all the laughter gay And he must miss the smiles of home upon his Christmas Day.
He'll spend his Christmas 'neath the Flag; he'll miss each merry face, Old Glory smiling down on him must take his mother's place, Yet in the Christmas box we've sent, in fancy he will find The laughter and the tears of joy that he has left behind.