Part 9 (1/2)

A Creed

To keep in mind from day to day That I'm a soldier in the fray; That I must serve, from sun to sun, As well as he who bears a gun The flag that flies above us all, And answer well my Country's call.

I must not for one hour forget Unto the Stars and Stripes my debt.

'Twas spotless on' my day of birth, And when at last I quit this earth Old Glory still must spotless be For all who follow after me.

At some post where my work will fit I must with courage do my bit; Some portion of myself I'd give That freedom and the Flag may live.

And in some way I want to feel That I am doing service real.

I must in all I say and do Respect the red, the white and blue', Nor dim with petty deeds of shame The splendor of Old Glory's fame; I must not let my standards drag, For my disgrace would stain the Flag.

The Struggle

Life is a struggle for peace, A longing for rest, A hope for the battles to cease, A dream for the best; And he is not living who stays Contented with things, Unconcerned with the work of the days And all that it brings.

He is dead who sees nothing to change, No wrong to make right; Who travels no new way or strange In search of the light; Who never sets out for a goal That he sees from afar But contents his indifferent soul With things as they are.

Life isn't rest--it is toil; It is building a dream; It is tilling a parcel of soil Or bridging a stream; It's pursuing the light of a star That but dimly we see, And in wresting from things as they are The joy that should be.

As It Looks to the Boy

His comrades have enlisted, but his mother bids him stay, His soul is sick with coward shame, his head hangs low to-day, His eyes no longer sparkle, and his breast is void of pride And I think that she has lost him though she's kept him at her side.

Oh, I'm sorry for the mother, but I'm sorrier for the lad Who must look on life forever as a hopeless dream and sad.

He must fancy men are sneering as they see him walk the street, He will feel his cheeks turn crimson as his eyes another's meet; And the boys and girls that knew him as he was but yesterday, Will not seem to smile upon him, in the old familiar way.

He will never blame his mother, but when he's alone at night, His thoughts will flock to tell him that he isn't doing right.

Oh, I'm sorry for the mother from whose side a boy must go, And the strong desire to keep him that she feels, I think I know, But the boy that she's so fond of has a life to live on earth, And he hungers to be busy with the work that is of worth.

He will sicken and grow timid, he'll be flesh without a heart Until death at last shall claim him, if he doesn't do his part.

Have you kept him, gentle mother? Has he lost his old-time cheer?

Is he silent, sad and sullen? Are his eyes no longer clear?

Is he growing weak and flabby who but yesterday was strong?

Then a secret grief he's nursing and I'll tell you what is wrong.

All his comrades have departed on their country's n.o.blest work, And he hungers to be with them--it is not his wish to s.h.i.+rk.

Fly a Clean Flag

This I heard the Old Flag say As I pa.s.sed it yesterday: ”Months ago your friendly hands Fastened me on slender strands And with patriotic love Placed me here to wave above You and yours. I heard you say On that long departed day: 'Flag of all that's true and fine, Wave above this house of mine; Be the first at break of day And the last at night to say To the world this word of cheer: Loyalty abideth here.'

”Here on every wind that's blown, O'er your” portal I have flown; Rain and snow have battered me, Storms at night have tattered me; Dust of street and chimney stack Day by day have stained me black, And I've watched you pa.s.sing there, Wondering how much you care.

Have you noticed that your flag, Is to-day a wind-blown rag?