Part 12 (2/2)

One hundred million st.u.r.dy souls Once more united stand, As one, you will find them all behind The banner of our land.

And side by side they work to-day In silken garb or rag, And once again our troops of men Are brothers of the flag.

And from the storm that hovers low, And from the angry sea Where dangers lurk and hate's at work.

Shall come new victory.

The flag shall know not race nor creed, Nor different bands of men; A people strong round it shall throng To ne'er divide again.

April Thoughts

Listen to the laughter of the brook that's racin' by!

Listen to the chatter of the black-birds on the fence!

Stand an' see the beauties of the blue that's in the sky-- Then ask of G.o.d why mortals haven't any better sense Than to quarrel an' to battle Where the guns an' cannon rattle An' to slaughter one another an' to fill the world with hate.

G.o.d brings the buds to blossom Where the gentle breezes toss 'em An' the soul is blind to beauty that takes anger for its mate.

Listen to the singin' of the robins in the trees!

See the sunbeams flas.h.i.+n' where they're mirrored by the stream!

Hear the drowsy buzzin' of the honey-seekin' bees, Then draw a little closer to your G.o.d the while you dream.

When the world is dressed to cheer you Don't you feel Him standin' near you?

When your soul drinks in the beauty of the wonders in His plan, An' you've put away your pa.s.sions, Don't you think the works He fas.h.i.+ons In their beauty an' their bigness mock the littleness of man?

Oh, I never walk an orchard nor a field with daisies strewn, An' I never stand bare-headed gazin' everywhere about At the living joys around me, be it morning, night or noon, But I ask G.o.d to forgive me that I ever held a doubt.

Surely men must walk in blindness, With the whole world tuned to kindness, An' all dumb an' feathered creatures fairly bubblin' o'er with glee To devote themselves to madness That can only end in sadness An' to think that they are being what G.o.d put them here to be.

The Chaplain

He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and he Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see.

He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind, But he had a man's religion and he had a strong man's mind, And he heard the call to duty, and he quit his church and went, And he bravely tramped right with 'em everywhere the boys were sent.

He put aside his broadcloth and he put the khaki on; Said he'd come to be a soldier and was going to live like one.

Then he refereed the prize fights that the boys pulled off at night, And if no one else was handy he'd put on the gloves and fight.

He wasn't there a fortnight ere he saw the soldiers' needs, And he said: ”I'm done with preaching; this is now the time for deeds.”

He learned the sound of shrapnel, he could tell the size of sh.e.l.l From the shriek it make above him, and he knew just where it fell.

In the front line trench he labored, and he knew the feel of mud, And he didn't run from danger and he wasn't scared of blood.

He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered them with his jokes, And he never made a visit without pa.s.sing round the smokes.

Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt beside a lad Who was ”going west” right speedy, and they both seemed mighty glad, 'Cause he held the boy's hand tighter, and he smiled and whispered low, ”Now you needn't fear the journey; over there with you I'll go.”

And they both pa.s.sed out together, arm in arm I think they went.

He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the boys were sent.

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