Over Here | Page 3

the grass once more is green, And every man can see the spot
where all his joys have been. He sees his children smile at him, he
hears the bugle call, And only death can stop him now--he's fighting for
them all.
The Flag
We never knew how much the Flag
Could mean, until he went away,

We used to boast of it and brag,
As something of a by-gone day;

But now the Flag can start our tears
In moments of our greatest joy,

Old Glory in the sky appears
The symbol of our little boy.
We knew that sometimes people wept
To see the Flag go waving by,

But never guessed the griefs they kept--
We never understood just
why.
But now our eyes grow quickly dim,
Our voices choke with
sobs to-day;
The Flag is telling us of him,
Our little boy who's gone
away.
We never knew the Flag could be
So much a part of human life,
We
thought it beautiful to see
Before these bitter days of strife;
But now
more beautiful it gleams,
And deeper in our hearts it dwells;
It is
the emblem of our dreams,
For of our little boy it tells.
A Battle Prayer
God of battles, be with us now:
Guard our sons from the lead of
shame,
Watch our sons when the cannons flame,
Let them not to a
tyrant bow.
God of battles, to Thee we pray:
Be with each loyal son who fights

In the cause of justice and human rights,
Grant him strength and lead
the way.
God of battles, our youth we give
To the battle line on a foreign soil,

To conquer hatred and lust and spoil;
Grant that they and their

cause shall live.
Good Luck
Good luck! That's all I'm saying, as you sail across the sea; The best o'
luck, in the parting, is the prayer you get from me. May you never meet
a danger that you won't come safely through, May you never meet a
German that can get the best of you; Oh! A thousand things may
happen when a fellow's at the front, A thousand different mishaps, but
here's hoping that they won't.
Good luck! That's all I'm saying, as you turn away to go, Good luck
and plenty of it, may it be your lot to know; May you never meet rough
weather, but remember if you do That the folks at home are wishing
that you'll all come safely through. Oh! A thousand things may happen
when a fellow bears the brunt Of His Country's fight for glory, but I'm
praying that they won't.
Good luck! That's all I'm saying as you're falling into line; May the
splendor of your service bring you everything that's fine; May the fates
deal kindly with you, may you never know distress, And may every
task you tackle end triumphant with success. Oh! A thousand things
may happen that with joy your life will fill; You may not get all the
gladness, but I'm hoping that you will.
A Prayer, 1918
Oh, make us worthy,
God, we pray,
To do thy service
Here to-day;

Endow us with
The strength we need
For every
Sacrificial
deed!
The Change
'Twas hard to think that he must go,
We knew that we should miss
him so,
We thought that he must always stay
Beside us, laughing,
day by day;
That he must never know the care
And hurt and grief of
life out there.
Then came the call for youth, and he
Talked with his

mother and with me,
And suddenly we learned the boy
Was
hungering to know the joy
Of doing something real with life,
And
that he craved the test of strife.
And so we steeled ourselves to dread;
To see at night his empty bed;

To feel the silence and the gloom
That hovers o'er his vacant room,

And though we wept the day he went,
And many a lonely hour
we've spent,
We've come to think as he, somehow,
And we are
more contented now;
We're proud that we can stand and say
We
have a boy who's gone away.
And we are glad to know that he
Is
serving where he ought to be.
It's queer, the change that time has brought:
We're different now in
speech and thought;
His letters home mean joy to us,
His
difficulties we discuss.
When word of his promotion came,
His
mother, with her eyes aflame
With happiness and pride, rushed out

To tell the neighbors round about.
Her boy! Her boy is doing well!

What greater news can mothers tell?
I think that pity now we show

For those who have no boys to go.
Mothers and Wives
Mothers and wives, 'tis the call to arms
That the bugler yonder
prepares to sound;
We stand on the brink of war's alarms
And your
men may lie on a blood-stained
ground.
The drums may play and the flags may fly,
And our boys
may don the brown and blue,
And the call that summons brave men
to die
Is the call for glorious women, too.
Mothers and wives, if the summons comes,
You, as ever since war
has been,
Must hear with courage the rolling drums
And dry your
tears when