Part 13 (1/2)

My Part

I may never be a hero, I am past the limit now, There are pencil marks of silver Time has left upon my brow; I shall win no service medals, I shall hear no cannons' roar, I shall never fight a battle higher up than eagles soar, But I hope my children's children may recall my name with pride As a man who never whimpered when his soul was being tried.

For the fighting and the dying for the everlasting truth Are the labors designated for the strongest of our youth, And the man that's nearing forty isn't asked to march away, For there is no place in battle for the head that's turning gray.

His test is one of patience till the bitter work is done, He must back his country's leaders till the victory is won.

When this bitter time is ended I don't want to have it said That I faltered in my courage and I never looked ahead, I don't want it told I added to the burdens and the woe, By preaching dismal doctrines that were cheering to the foe; I want my children's children to respect me and to find That my soul was out there fighting, though my body stayed behind.

When this cruel test is over and the boys come back from France I'd not have them say I hindered for a moment their advance; That they found their duty harder than 'twas needful it should be Because of the complaining of a lot of men like me.

Though I'll win no hero's medals and deserve no wild applause, I want to be of service, not a hindrance to the cause.

The Call

Some will heed the call to arms, But all must heed the call to grit; The dreamers on the distant farms Must rally now to do their bit.

The whirring lathes in factories great Will sing the martial songs of strife; Upon the emery wheel of fate We're grinding now the nation's life.

The call is not alone to guns, This is not but a battle test; The world has summoned free men's sons In every field to do their best.

The call has come to every man To reach the summit of his powers; To stand to service where he can; A mighty duty now is ours.

We must be stalwarts in the field Where peace has always kept her throne, No door against the need is sealed, No man to-day can live alone.

The young apprentice at the bench, The wise inventor, old and gray, Serve with the soldier in the trench, All warriors for the better day.

Oh, man of science, unto you The call for service now has come!

Mechanic, banker, lawyer, too, Have you not heard the stirring drum?

Oh, humble digger in the ditch, Bend to your spade and do your best, And prove America is rich In manhood fine for every test.

Each man beneath the starry flag Must live his n.o.blest through the strife If tyranny is not to drag Into the mire the best of life.

Though some will wear our uniform, We face to-day a common fate And all must bravely breast the storm And heed the call for courage great.

Thanksgiving

For strength to face the battle's might, For men that dare to die for right, For hearts above the lure of gold And fortune's soft and pleasant way, For courage of our days of old, Great G.o.d of All, we kneel and pray.

We thank Thee for our splendid youth.

Who fight for liberty and truth, Within whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s there glows anew The glory of the altar fires Which our heroic fathers knew-- G.o.d make them worthy of their sires!

We thank Thee for our mothers fair Who through the sorrows they must bear Still smile, and give their hearts to woe, Yet bravely heed the day's command-- That mothers, yet to be, may know A free and glorious motherland.