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their young,
And God above has smiled to see

This precious work of liberty,
And watched this second gift He gave

The dreary lives of men to save.
And now, when liberty's at bay,
And blood-stained tyrants force the
fray,
Worn warriors, battling for the right,
Crushed by oppression's

cruel might,
Hear in the dark through which they grope
America's
glad cry of hope:
Man's liberty is not to die!
America is standing by!

World-wide shall human lives be free:
America has crossed the
sea!
America! the land we love!
God's second gift from Heaven above,

Builded and fashioned out of truth,
Sinewed by Him with splendid
youth
For that glad day when shall be furled
All tyrant flags
throughout the world.
For this our banner holds the sky:
That
liberty shall never die.
For this, America began:
To make a
brotherhood of man.
The Time for Deeds
We have boasted our courage in moments of ease,
Our star-spangled
banner we've flung on the breeze;
We have taught men to cheer for its
beauty and worth,
And have called it the flag of the bravest on earth

Now the dark days are here, we must stand to the test.
Oh, God! let
us prove we are true to our best!
We have drunk to our flag, and we've talked of the right, We have
challenged oppression to show us its might;
We have strutted for
years through the world as a race
That for God and for country,
earth's tyrants would face; Now the gage is flung down, hate is loosed
in the world. Oh, God! shall our flag in dishonor be furled?
We have said we are brave; we have preached of the truth, We have
walked in conceit of the strength of our youth; We have mocked at the
ramparts and guns of the foe,
As though we believed we could laugh
them all low.
Now oppression has struck! We are challenged to fight!

Oh, God! let us prove we can stand for the right!
If in honor and glory our flag is to wave,
If we are to keep this--the
land of the brave;
If more than fine words are to fashion our creeds,

Now must our hands and our hearts turn to deeds.
We are challenged

by tyrants our strength to reveal!
Oh, God! let us prove that our
courage is real!
Everywhere in America
Not somewhere in America, but everywhere to-day,
Where
snow-crowned mountains hold their heads,
the vales where children play,
Beside the bench and whirring lathe,
on every
lake and stream
And in the depths of earth below, men share a
common dream--
The dream our brave forefathers had of freedom
and of right,
And once again in honor's cause, they rally and
unite.
Not somewhere in America is love of country
found,
But east and west and north and south once
more the bugles sound,
And once again, as one, men stand to break
their brother's chains,
And make the world a better place, where only
justice reigns.
The patriotism that is here, is echoed over there,
The
hero at a certain post is on guard everywhere.
O'er humble home and
mansion rich the starry
banner flies,
And far and near throughout the land the men
of valor rise.
The flag that flutters o'er your home is fluttering

far away
O'er homes that you have never seen. The same
impulses sway
The souls of men in distant states. The red, the
white and blue
Means to one hundred million strong, just what
it means to you.
The self-same courage resolute you feel and
understand
Is throbbing in the breasts of men throughout
this mighty land.
Not somewhere in America, but everywhere to-day,

For justice and for liberty all free men work
and pray.
The Things That Make a Soldier Great
The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die, To face
the flaming cannon's mouth, nor ever question why, Are lilacs by a
little porch, the row of tulips red,
The peonies and pansies, too, the
old petunia bed,
The grass plot where his children play, the roses on
the wall: 'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting for them all.
'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave; 'Tis not
allegiance to the flag that over him may wave; For soldiers never fight
so well on land or on the foam As when behind the cause they see the
little place called home. Endanger but that humble street whereon his
children run-- You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun.
What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees? The little
garden far away, the budding apple trees,
The little patch of ground
back there, the children at their play, Perhaps a tiny mound behind the
simple church of gray.
The golden thread of courage isn't linked to
castle dome But to the spot, where'er it be--the humble spot called
home.
And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there,
And homesick

soldiers far away know spring is in the air; The tulips come to bloom
again,