Over Here Part 3

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.

The best for them is what we dream. Our little girls and boys Must know the finest life can give of comforts and of joys.

They must be s.h.i.+elded well from woe and kept secure from care, And if we could, upon our backs, their burdens we would bear.

And so once more we rise to-day to face the battle zone That those who follow us may know the Flag that we have known.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall live; The greatest joys we hope to claim are those that we shall give.

We face the heat and strife of life, its battle and its toil That those who follow us may know the best of freedom's soil.

And if we knew that by our death we'd keep that flag on high, For your boy and my boy, how gladly we would die.

Soldierly

The glory of a soldier--and a soldier's not a saint-- Is the way he does his duty without grumbling or complaint; His work's not always pleasant, but he does it rain or s.h.i.+ne, And he grabs a bit of glory when he's fighting in the line; But the lesson that he teaches every day to me an' you Is the way to do a duty that we do not like to do.

Any sort o' chap can whistle when his work is mostly fun; A hundred want the pleasant jobs to every st.u.r.dy one That'll grab the dreary duty an' the mean an' lowly task, Or the drab an' cheerless service that life often has to ask; But somebody has to do it, an' the test of me an' you Is the way we face the labor that we do not like to do.

Now, it isn't very pleasant standin' guard out in the rain But it's in the line o' duty, an' no soldier will complain, An' there isn't any soldier but what sometimes hates his work When the dress parade is over, an' perhaps he'd like to s.h.i.+rk, But he's there to follow orders, not to pick an' choose his post, An' he sometimes s.h.i.+nes the finest at the job he hates the most.

Let's be soldiers in the struggle, let's be loyal through and through; Life is going to give us duties that perhaps we'll hate to do.

There'll be little sacrifices that we will not like to make, There'll be many tasks unpleasant that will fall to us to take.

An' although we all would rather do the work that brings applause, Let's forget our whims and fancies an' just labor for the cause.

The Alarm

Get off your downy cots of ease, There's work that must be done.

Great danger's riding on the seas.

The storm is coming on.

Don't think that it will quickly pa.s.s.

Who smiles at distant fate, And waits until it strikes, alas!

Has roused himself too late.

Who thinks the fight will end before The need of him arrives, Is lengthening this brutal war And costing many lives.

For over us that storm shall break Ere many weeks have fled, And we shall pay for our mistake In fields of mangled dead.

Be ready when the foe shall near, Be there to strike him hard; Let us, though he be miles from here, Be standing now on guard.

To-morrow's victories won't be won By pluck that we display To-morrow when the foe comes on, But by our work to-day.

The Boy Enlists