The Sunday Oregonian., May 13, 1917, SECTION FIVE, Page 8, Image 70

8
THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAy. PO RTL. A Jf D. 3IAY 13, 1917.
MEMORIAL ATSJD DECORATION DAY POEMS ARE REQUESTED
Entire Page on May 27 Will Be Devoted to Articles if Enough Are Sent In Many Old Offerings Contributed by Readers.
SUGGESTIONS TO CONTRIBU
TORS TO THE POETRY PAGE.
Wo are not able to reprlDt
poems requested which belong to
works that are protected by
copyright, such as Service, Kip
ling, Riley and others.
Except In cases where there Is
exceptional timeliness. It Is not
possible to reprint poems which
have appeared on this page al
ready within a, period of a few
months.
Copies that are sent In Illegi
bly written, written on both sides
of the pages or written without
regard to the correct poetical
form, or poems which are ob
viously Incorrect, cannot be han
dled on this page.
Neither can we continue to re
print songs that have been popu
lar In recent years, owing to the
vast number of genuinely old
poems that must be handled. Up
to the time of the Spanish War
Is about as far Into the modern
as we will be able to come.
Unless request for the return
of clippings or manuscripts, with
an lnclosure of postage or
stamped and addressed envelopes.
Is made, contributions will not
be returned after they ar used.
Contributions are handled as
rapidly as possible, but owing to
the volume of manuscripts re
ceived. It Is frequently several
weeks before a poem sent In can
be reprinted. Effort Is made to
acknowledge all contributions.
Precedence In reprinting is giv
en to copies of poems sent In In
response to requests printed on
this page.
In sending In manuscript, write
on one side only of the paper,
'leave a fair space at the begin
ning of the first page and the
end of the last and indicate at the
end the name of the contributor
to whom It Is to be credited.
We reserve the right to reject
without comment contributions
which are inappropriate or of lit
tle value either from a sentimen
tal, historical or poetical stand
point. Note on the outside of the en
velope, "Old Poem Department."
THE old song, "No, Sir!" continues
to come in from interested con
tributors and we must acknowl
edge copies from airs. L E. Hiatt, of
Vancouver; "J. A. F.," of Astoria; Mrs.
F. Krutsinger, Mrs. R. E Veltum, of
Eugene, and Mrs Robert Graham, of
Aberdeen
We are Indebted for a. copy of "Roger
and I," or "The Vagabonds," also to
Thomas J. Boothby, of CorvalllA, Ruth
Luce and J. W. Cookingham.
R. G. Case requests us to reprint
"The Soldiers Dream," but this was
printed in the Issue of August 13, 1916,
and the poem "Lasca,'' also asked for
by him, was printed July 23, 1916.
Mrs. J. W. Jones requests "The Bat
tle of Shiloh," in which the lines that
follow are found:
"It was early morning, April 6th,
We struck our tents and marched away,
From Benton's Bannocks we did go
To meet the rebels at Shiloh."
"Twenty-nine"- is requested by Mrs.
Charles W. Buel, of Albany.
"Sweet Roses of -Spring, They Are
Fading," and "Far . on the Deep Blue
Eea,". Is requested by Mrs. A. V. Pen
dleton. "Reverend Quaco Strong." which, be
gins "Swing the gate wide, Postle
Peter, ring the bell and beat-de gong;
let de seraphs dance with cymbals,
round the Reverend Quaco Strong," is
asked by a contributor from McMinn
ville. D. J. -Cooper, -of The Dalles, wants
the verses beginning: "Tomorrow is
our calling day and I must haste to
go, ere Texas does submit to cruel
Mexico."
Mrs. John W. Wiltse, of 369 East
Morrison, requests "Deadwood Dick
and Plney."
C. W. Castle, of Baker, suggests that
sl page of Memorial day, or Decoration
day poems that have long Veen favor
ites be made up for the last Sunday in
May.
Contributions for euch a page will
be welcomed up to May 22, and if a
sufficient number are received, the en
tire page will be devoted on the Sun
day following that date, to Decoration
day -verso.
A SOLITARY WAT.
Psalm evil, 1-9.
There is a mystery in human hearts.
And, though we be encircled by a host
Of those who love us well, and are
beloved.
To everyone of us, from time to time.
There comes a sense of utter loneliness.
Our dearest friend is "stranger" to our
Joy.
And cannot realize our bitterness.
"There is not one who really under
stands; Not one to enter into all I feel";
Such is the cry of each of us in turn.
We wander in "a solitary way,"
No matter what or where our lot
may be;
Each heart, mysterious even to itself.
Must live its inner life in solitude.
Job vii, 17 Matthew x. 37.
And would you know the reason why
this is?
It is because the Lord desires our love;
In every heart he wishes to be first;
He, therefore, keeps the secret key
himself.
To open all its chambers, and to bless.
With perfect sympathy and holy peace.
Each solitary soul which comes to him;
So when we feel this loneliness it is
The voice of Jesus saying, "Coma to
me";
And every time we are "not under
stood," It is a call to us to come again,
For Christ can satisfy the soul.
And those who walk with him from
day to day
Can never have "a solitary way."
Isaiah xlviii. 16.
And when beneath some heavy cross
you faint.
And say. "I cannot bear this cross
alone."
Tou say the truth. Christ made it
purposely
Bo heavy that you must return to him.
The bitter grief, which no one understands.
Conveys a secret message from the
King.
Kntreatlng you to come to him again.
The man of sorrows understands it
well;
In all points tempted he can be with
you;
Tou cannot come too often or too near.
The Son of God is infinite in grace;
His presence satisfies the longing soul.
And those who walk with him from
day to day
Can never have a, solitary way.
Contributed by Julia L. Ramson, of
McMinnviUe, Or.
"The Dreadnought" has nothing to
do with modern battleships, but is a
chantey composed 60 years ago, which
has since become a classic among sea
faring men, and which has received ad
riitiohal stanza until the original has
been spun out into hundreds of verses.
Kipling refers to it and tells how sail
ore used to sing it all night long, faith
fully working the Dreadnought to all
parts of the worm.
Captain W. H. Hardy, of Portland, the
sole survivor of the Perry expedition
to Japan, lays claim to the composi
tion of the original thantey of the
Dreadnought.
"I wrote it when I was third mate
of the Dreadnought, and it was sug
gested to me by Mr. Whitehorn, the
fourth mate," says Captain Hardy. "1
wrote it on March 20, 1857, whilst on
passage from Liverpool to New York."
The version of the famous old chan
tey, as sent In by Captain Hardy, fol
lows: THE DREADNOUGHT.
It's of a flash packet,
A packet of fame.
She sails to the westward
And the Dreadnought's her name.
She sails to the westward.
Where stormy winds blow;
Bound away in the Dreadnought
To the westward we'll go.
It's now we are lying
In the River Mersey,
Waiting for the Constitution
To tow us to sea.
She'll tow us round the black rock
Where the tides ebb and flow;
Bound away in the Dreadnought
To the westward we'll go.
It's now we are sailing
Down the wild Irish shore,
With our passengers all sick
And our sailors all sore;
While the gulls in our wake
Fly around, to and fro.
Bound away in the Dreadnought
To the westward we'll go.
It's now we are sailing
The ocean so wide.
Where the dark and deep waters
Dash by our sides.
While our sailors aloft
Like the lightning do go.
Bound away in the Dreadnought
To the westward we'll go.
It's now we are sailing
On the banks of Newfoundland,
Where the water is deep
And the bottom is sand.
While the fish in the ocean
Swim around, to and fro.
Bound away in the Dreadnought
To the westward we'll go.
It's now we are sailing
Down the Long Island shore.
Where the pilot he boards us
As oft times before.
Saying: -"Fill away your malniopsail.
Board your main tack also;
She's a Liverpool Vpacket,
Brave lads! Let her go!"
And now to conclude
. And to finish my song.
in what I have said
I hope there's no wrong:
For the song was composed
When my watch went below;
Bound away in the Dreadnought
To the westward we'll go.
It's ndw we're sailing the Hudson
And New York will soon a linear:
It's there we'll have the Dreadnought
wnen she s moored to her pier.
So, here's health to Captain Samuels!
Here s health to his crew!
Here's health to the Dreadnought!
Jei us bid her adieu!
DEM GOLDEN SLIPPERS.
Oh, my golden slippers am laid away
Kase I don t 'spect to wear em till my
wedding day.
And my long-tailed coat dat I loved
so well
I will wear up In de chariot in the
morn.
And my long white robe dat I bought
last June "
I'm going to get changed kase it fits
too soon;
And de old grey horse dat I used to
drive
I'll hitch, up to de chariot in the morn.
Chorus.
Oh, dem golden slippers. Oh.
Dera golden slippers, golden slippers
I'm going towear to walk the golden
street
Oh, dera golden slippers. Oh
Oh, dem golden slippers, golden slip
pers
I'm going to wear because they look so
neat.
Oh my old banjo hangs on the wall
Kase it ain't been tuned since way last
Fall,
But de darkles all say we will hab
a good time
When we ride up In the chariot in de
morn.
Oar's old Brudder Ben and Sister Luce
Dey will telegraph the news to Uncle
Bacco Juice,
What a. great camp meeting dere will
be dat day.
When we ride up in de chariot in de
morn.
So it's goodbye children, I will hab to
go
Where de rain don't fall nor de wind
don't blow.
And yer ulster coat why yer will not
need, '
When yer ride up In de chariot Jn de
morn.
But yer golden slippers must be nice
and clean
And yer age must be Just sweet sixteen.
And yer white kid gloves yer will have
to wear
When yer ride up in de chariot in de
morn.
Recently requested, and contributed
by Eula McClane. of Salem.
The request for the old song, "No,
Sir!" has brought a flood of responses.
Copies have been received from A. L
Morris, of Warren; A. L.- Orr, of Sa
lem; Mrs. H. L. St. Clair, of Gresham;
Mrs. H. P. Steers, of The Dalles: C. AV.
Badger, of Portland; Pearl Schleger,
of Olympia: Mrs. John A. Fort, of New
berg; Margaret Downey, of Palouse,
Wash.; Frances Van Patten, of Port
land; J. H. Dawson, of Tillamook, and
Mrs. George L. Brown, of Portland.
The song was popular in the early
'80s and the melody will be remembered
by many of our readers.
NO, SIR!
Tell me one thing, tell me truly.
Tell me why you scorn me so;
Tell me why, when asked a question.
That you always answer no.
Chorus
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; no!
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; no!
My father was a Spanish merchant.
And before he went to sea.
Ho told me to be sure and answer
"No" to all you said to me.
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; no!
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; not
Chorus
If when walking in the garden.
Plucking flowers all wet with dew.
Tell me would you be offended
If I walked and talked with you?
No, sir; no, sir; no. sir; no!
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; not
Chorus
If while walking in the garden.
I should ask you to be mine.
And tell you that I loved you.
Would you then my heart decline?
Chorus
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; no!
No, sir; no, sir; no, sir; nol
GRAFTED ISTO THE ARMY.
(This satirical old song was in high
popularity in the time when the draft
was on in, the Civil War, and was sung
everywhere to poke fun at reluctant
conscripts. A contributor sends it in
v
REVEILLE
at this time as apropos the opposition
of some to the present conscription
measures).
Our Jimmy has gone for to live in a
tent;
They have grafted him Into the Army.
He finally puckered up courage and
went.
When they grafted him into the
Army.
I told them the child was too young,
alas!
At the captain's forequarters they said
ne would pass
They'd train him up well in the infan
try class
So they grafted him into the Army.
Chorus
Oh. Jimmy, farewell! Ypur brothers fell
Way down in Alabarmy.
I thought they would spare a lone wld-
aer's heir;
But they grafted him Into the Army.
Dressed up in his unicorn dear little
chap!
They have grafted him into the
Arm y.
It seems but a day since he sot in my
lap
But they grafted him into the Armv.
And these are the trousies he used to
wear
Them very same buttons the patch
ana tno tear
But Uncle Sam gave him a bran-new
pair
When they grafted him Into the
Army.
Now in my provisions I see him. re
vealed-
They have grafted him Into the armv:
A picket beside the contented field.
They have grafted him into the army.
He looks kinder sickish begins to
cry
A big volun-tear standing right In his
eye!
Oh, what if the ducky should up and
aie.
Now they've grafted) him into the
army!
SOME MOTHER'S CHILD.
At home or away in the alley or street.
vv nenever 1 cnance in this wide world
to meet
A girl that is thoughtless or a boy
mat is wild.
My heart echoes sadly, " 'Tis some
mother s child."
And when I see those o'er whom long
years have roll'd.
Whose hearts have grown hardened
whose spirits are cold.
Be it woman all fallen, or man all de
nied.
A voice whispers sadly, "Ah, some
mother s child!"
No matter how far from the right she
bath strayed.
No matter what inroads dishonor hath
made.
No matter what element cankered the
pearl.
Tho' tarnished and sullied, she's some
motner s girl.
No matter how wayward his footsteps
nave been.
No matter how deep he is sunken in
sin.
No matter how low is his standard of
Joy,
Though guilty and loathsome, he's
some mother s boy.
That head hath been pillowed on ten-
derest breast:
That form hath been wept o'er, those
ups have Deen pressed;
That soul hath been prayed for in
tones sweet and mild.
For her sake deal gently with some
mother's child.
Contributed by Alice B. Russell.
KATHLEE.V MAVOIR.VEKN.
Kathleen Mavourneen. the gray dawn
is breaking.
The horn of the hunter is heard on
the hill;
The lark from her light wing the bright
dew is shaking,
Kathleen Mavourneen, what, slum
bering still!
Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we
must sever?
Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we
must part?
It may be for years and it may be for
ever; Oh. why art thou silent, tLu voice
of my heart?
Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy
slumbers;
The blue mountains glow In the sun's
golden light;
Ah, where is the spell that once hung
on my numbers?
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my
night.
Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears
are falling.
To think that from Erin and thee I
must part;
It may be for years an 4 It may be for
ever; Then why art thou silent, thou voice
, of my heart?
It 'may be for years and It may be for
ever; Then why art tbou silent, Kathleen
Mavourneen?
F. Nicholas Crouch.
"The Lily of the West" was sent in
some time ago. but the copy was in
such form it could not be used. We
Hark, I hear the tramp of thousands,
And of armed men the hum ;
Lo, a nation's hosts have gathered
Hound the quick alarming; drum
Saying; "Come,
Freemen, come,
Ere your heritage be wasted."
Said the quick alarming drum.
"Let me of my heart take counsel ; .
War is not of life the sum ;
j Who shall stay and reap the harvest
When the Autumn days shall come?
But the drum
Echoed "Come,
Death shall reap the braver harvests,"
Said the solemn-sounding drum.
"But when won the coming battle,
What of profits springs therefrom?
What of conquestssubjugation
Even greater ills become,"
But the drum
Answered "Come,
You must do the sum to prove it,"
, Said the Yankee answering drum.
"What if 'mid the cannon thunder
Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
When my brothers fall around me,
Should my heart grow cold and numb?"
But the drum
Answered "Come,
Better there in death united,
Than in life a recreant come."
Thus they answered hoping, fearing
Some in faith and doubting, some.
Till a trumpet voice, proclaiming, said,
"My chosen people come" ;
Then the drum
Lo, was dumb,
For the great heart of the nation
Throbbing, answered, "Lord, we come."
Contributed by Ida May Johnston, of Huntington, Or.
U.ULO.
are indebted for the following copy of
the old song to W. M. Stanton, ol Port
land: THE LILY OB THE WEST.
I Just came down from London, some
pleasure to find,
A handsome girl from Nassau, so pleas
ing tq my mind;
Her cherry cheeks and rolling eyes,
like arrows pierced my breast;
And they called her Handsome Mary,
the Lily of the West.
For seven long years I courted her;
her love I sought to gain.
But soon, too soon, she slighted me,
which caused me grief and pain;
She robbed me of my liberty and de
prived me of my rest,.
But still I adored this Mary, the Lily
of the West.
As I walked out one evening down by
a shady grove.
I saw- a lord of high degree convers
ing with my love.
He sang a song so merrily, and I was
sore oppressed;
Yes, he sang for lovely Mary, the Lily
of the W est.
I rushed up to my rival with my dagger
in my hand:
I tore him from my own true love and
boldly bade him stand.
Being mad to desperation, my dagger
pierced his breast.
And I was betrayed by Mary, the Lily
of the West.
Now my trial has come off, my sen
tence soon shall be;
They placed me In the criminal box and
there convicted me.
She so deceived, the Jury, so modestly
She dressed.
That she outshone bright Venus, the
Lily of the West.
Since I have gained my liberty, a-rov-
ing I will go,
I'll travel this wide world over to find
my love once more.
Tho' she robbed me of my liberty and
deprived me of my rest.
Still I adore you, Mary, you're the girl
that I love best.
There is worse weariness than thine.
In merely being rich and great;
Work only makes the soul to shine.
And makes rest fragrant and. benign;
A heritage. It seems to me.
Worth being poor to hold in fee.
Both, heirs to some fix feet of sod.
Are equal in the earth at last;
Both children of the same dear God
Prove title to your heirship vast.
By record of a well-filled past;
A heritage, it seems to me.
Well worth a life to hold in fee.
Contributed by Ruth Luce.
THE HERITAGE.
By James Russell Lowell.
The rich man's son inherits lands.
And piles of brick and stone and gold;
And he inherits soft, white hands.
And tender flesh that fears the cold.
Nor dares to wear a garment old;
A heritage, it seems to me.
One would not care 10 hold in fee.
The rich man's son Inherits cares:
The brick may break, the factory
burn;
Some breath may burst his bubble
shares;
And soft, white hands would hardly
earn
A living that would not suit his turn;
A heritage, it seems to me.
One would not care to hold in fee.
The rich man's son Inherits wants:
His stomach craves for dainty fare
With sated heart, he hears the pants
Of toiling hands with brown arms
bare.
And wearies In his easy chair;
A heritage, it seems to me.
One would not care to hold in fee.
What does the poor man's son Inherit?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart;
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art;
A heritage. It seems to me,
A King might wish to hold in fee.
What does the poor man's son inherit?
Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things;
A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit;
Content that from employment
springs;
A heart thatvin his labor sings;
A heritage, it seems to me.
A King might wish to bold in fee.
What does the poor man's son inherit?
A patience learned by being poor;
Courage, if sorrow comes, to bear it;
A fellow-feeling that is sure
To make the outcast bless his door;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A King might wish to hold, in fee.
O, rich man's son! there Is a toll
That with all other level 'stands
Large charity does never soil
But only whitens, sclt. white hands!
That is the best crop from, the lands;
A heritage, it seems to me.
Worth being rich to hold In fee.
O, poor man's son, scorn not thy state!
KNITTING SONG.
(Sung in 1862.)
Knit, knit, knit.
The socks and mittens and gloves.
Knit, knit, knit
Each one that her country loves!
Lay by the useless, the beautiful toy
With which you may an hour employ.
And knit, instead, for the soldier boy
Knit, knit, knit. .
Knit, knit, knit.
Narrow and widen and seam.
Knit, knit, knit
Till the flying needles gleam.
Knit till the mitten lies complete.
Knit till the socks for the weary feet
The eye of each patient soldier greet.
Knit, knit, knit.
Knit, knit, knit.
And knit with many a prayer.
Knit, knit, knit.
Pray God the lives to spare
Of loved ones, soon on the battle field
The deadly weapons of war to wield.
And pray that the foe before them
yield.
Knit, knit, knit.
Contributed by Mrs. E. M. Meeds,
of Gladstone.
VIVA L'AMERICA. nOME OF THE
FREE.
Noble republic, happiest of lands.
Foremost of nations. Columbia stands
Freedom's proud banner floats in the
skies
Where shouts of liberty dally arise.
"United we stand, divided we fall."
Union forever, freedom to all.
Chorus:
Throughout the world our motto shall
be
Viva L'America. home of the free.
Should ever traitor rise in the land.
Curs'd be his homestead, withered his
hand.
Shame be his memory, scorn be his
lot.
Exile his heritage, Ms name a blot.
"United we stand, divided we fall."
Granting a home and freedom to alL
Chorus:
To all her heroes.
To all her foes, a
Our "Stripes and
shall wave.
Emblem of liberty,
"United we stand.
Gladly we'll die at
Chorus: Through
Contributed by
Gladstone.
justice and fame,
traitor's foul name.
Stars" still proudly
, flag of the brave,
divided we fall,"
our country's call.
out the world, etc.
Mrs. E. M. Meeds, of
THE NAME OF MOTHER.
There are words that speak of a
quenchless love.
Which burns in the hearts we cherish:
And accents that tell of a friendship
proved.
That never will blight or perish;
There are sort words murmured by
dear, dear lips.
Far richer than any other;
But the sweetest word that the- ear
hath heard
Is the blessed name of mother.
Oh, magical word! May It never die
From the lips that love to speak it;
Nor melt away from the trusting hearts
That even would break to keep it:
Was there ever a name that lived like
this?
Will there ever be such another?
The angels have .-eared in heaven a
shrine
For the holy name of Mother.
Contributed by Alice B. Russell.
GONE TO THE WAR.
Out from our homes, and hearthstones.
Noble of heart and hand.
Each to the call responding.
God, and our own proud land:
Brothers and sons and husbands, -
Follow the guiding star.
Gone from our homes. God help us.
Gone, gone to the war.
Lips that are white with anguish.
Murmurs nor faiterlngs know.
Saying a calm. "God speed you."
Bidding them bravely go.
Somewhere the danger's thickest.
Somewhere it sounds afar.
All with our prayers and blessings.
Gone, gone to the war.
Oh! If the Lord of battles
Were not our strength and stay.
Mothers and wives and sisters.
Where should we turn today?
But knowing his power extendeth.
Where er his children are.
Trusting, we pray, God keeps them.
uone, gone to the war.
- A WOUNDED SOLDIER,
(Abridged.)
Steady, boys, steady! Keep your arms
ready.
God only knows whom we may meet
sere.
Don't let me be taken; Fd rather
awaken.
Tomorrow in no matter where.
Than to lie in that foul prison-hole
over rhere.
Step slowly! Speak lowlyt
The rocks may have life:
Lay me down In the hollow;
We are out of the strife.
By heaven; the foeman may track me
in blood.
For this hole in my breast is outpour
ing a flood.
No! No surgeon for me; he can give
me no aid;
The surgeon I want Is a pickaxe and
spade.
What. Morris, a tear? Why, shame on
you, man I
I thought you a hero; but since you
began
To whimper and cry like a girl in her
teens.
By George! I don't know what the
devil it means.
Well! Well! I am rough; 'tis a very
rough school.
This life of a trooper but yet I'm no
fool I
I know a brave man, and a friend from
a foe;
And, boys, that you love me I certainly
know.
But wasn't it grand-.
When they came down the hill over
sloughing and sand?
But we stood did we not? like im
movable rock.
Unheeding their balls and .repelling
their shock.
Did you mind the loud cry. when as
turning to fly.
Our men sprang upon them, determined
to die.
Oh. wasn't it grand?
God belp the poor wretches who fell
in the fight;
No time was there given for prayer
or for flight.
They fell by the score, in the crash,
hand to hand.
And they mingled their blood with tho
sloughing and sand.
Great heavens! This bullet-hole gapes
like a grave!
A curse on the aim of the traitorous.
knave!
Is there never a one of you know how
to pray.
Or speak for a man as his life ebbs
away?
Pray! Pray!
Our Father! Our Fatherl Why don't
you proceed
Can't you see I am dying Great God,
how I bleed!
Our Father in heaven boys, tell me
the rest.
While I stanch the hot blood from the
hole in my breast.
There's something about the forgive
ness of sin;
Put that in! put that in! and then
I'll follow your words and say an
"Amen."
Here, Morris, old fellow, get hold of
my hand.
And Wilson, my comrade oh! wasn't
it grand
When they came down the hill like a
thunder-charged cloud.
And were scattered like mist by our
brave little crowd?
Where's Wilson, my comrade? Here,
stoop down your head.
Can't yon say a short prayer for the
dying and dead?
HYMN.
"Christ God, who. died for sinners all.
Hear thou this suppliant wanderer's
cry: .
Let not e'en this por sparrow rail
Unheeded by thy gracious re;
Throw wide thy gates to let him in.
And take him. pleading, to thine arms;
Forgive O, Lord, his lifelong sin.
And quiet all his fierce alarm."
God bless you, my comrade, for sing
ing that hymn.
It is light to my path, now my sight
has grown dim. '
I am dying! Bend down, till I touch
you once more:
Don't forget me, old fellow,
God prosper this war!
Confusion to enemies! keep hold or
my hand
And float our dear flag o'er a prosper
ous land! .
Contributed by Mrs. Florence Cady.
of Fallbridge. Wash.
THE FLAG THAT MAKES MEN FREE
By Kate Brownlee Sherwood.
The battle clouds obscured the land and
dimmed the nether seas.
The dread alarms of war walled out on
every swelling breeze;
The land the fathers wrestled for. in
hunger, cold and thirst.
Lay bound and bleeding in the tolls of
tyranny accursed.
They sought for sign or symbol, but to
rescue there was none.
When lo! across the darkness flashed
the flag of Washington
The bonny flag, the beauteous flag, the
flag of colors three;
Tour flag, my flag, the people's flag
The flag that makes men free.
And red for human brotherhood: no
matter creed or clan.
The same rich blood proclaims us one
in God's eternal plan;
And white for peace and purity, and
Heaven on earth begun;
And blue the expanding canopy, the
clustered stars in one;
They kissed its folds and through the
years of storm and stress they
came.
The ragged Continentals crowned with
earth-compelling fame:
Their star-bespangled banner stream
ing over land and sea
Tour flag, my flag, the people's flag
The flag that makes men free.
And lo! the scene was shifted and while
the people slept.
Through marts of trade and traffic the
foes of freedom crept.
For pride and power they wrestled, for
lust or greed and gain
They forged the human shackles and
might resumed her reign;
As jeer and sneer run riot where dread
and discord reel.
The right of man lay trampled beneath
the tyrant's heel.
They fired the torch of treason and
mock with anarchy
Tour flag, my flag, the people's flag
The flag that makes men free.
Then chop and school and farm and
mine and factory outpour.
And thrice a hundred thousand men are
marshaled at the fore;
And thrice a hundred thousand men,
with purpose staunch and true.
On storied height, on gory plain, to die
for me and you;
To consecrate our flag anew to truth's
unending fame
Equality, Fraternity, in thunder tone
proclaim:
To fly from fort and citadel for aye,
exulting!;,
Tour flag, my flag, the people's flag .
The flag that makes men free.
What word. O fallen heroes! within
the- portals low.
Where underneath the Southern Cross
the sweet magnolias grow?
Guard well that flag, lest while yon
sleep the foe should haul it down
WhUe weeping fills our peaceful land
and cannon flame and frown.
Guard well that flag, lest greed and
graft should splash those stars of
And, followed by the orphan's moan.
iair r reeaom taiees her flight!
Guard well that flag, for faith and hop
Tour flag, my flag, the people's flag
-m ns inn roaaes men iree:
Contributed by Ruth Lues.
ARNOLD WIKELRIEDt
By James Montgomery.
"Make way for liberty." ha cried
Made way for liberty, and died.
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood
A living wall, a human wood:
All-horrent with projected spears.
Impregnable their front appears.
Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their fatherland;
Peasants, whose new-found strengtK
had broke
From manly necks the ignoble ypka
Marshaled once more at freedom's call.
They came to conquer or to fall.
And now the work of life and deatV
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burned within;
The battle trembled to begin:
Vet, while the .Austrians held the!?
ground.
Point for assault was nowhere found!
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet.
And perish at their tryant's feet.
How could they rest within thei
graves.
To leave their homes the haunts of
slaves?
Would they not feel their children
tread.
With clanking chains above their,
head?
It must not be: this day. this hour.
Annihilates the , invaders' powers.
All Switzerland is in the field
She will not fly. she cannot yield.
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast.
Yet every freeman was a host.
And felt as 'twere a secret known
That one should turn the scale alone.
While each unto himself was he
On whose sole arm hung victory.
It depended on one, indeed;
Behold him Arnold Winkelrled!
There sounds not to the trump of Fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked, he stood amid the throng.
In rumination deep and long.
Till you might see, with sudden grace.
The very thot come o'er his face.
And by motion of bis form.
Anticipate the bursting storm.
And, by the uplifting of his brow.
Tell where the bolt would strike, and
how.
But 'twas no sooner thot than done 4
Tho field was in a moment won!
"Make way for liberty!" he cried.
Then ran. with arms extended wide.
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp
"Make way for liberty! he cried:
Their keen points crossed from side to
side;
He bowed amidst them like a tree.
And thus made way for liberty.
Swift to the breach his comrades fly 4
"Make way for liberty," they cry.
And through the Austrian phalanx dart.
As rushed the spears through Arnold's
heart.
While Instantaneous as his fall.
Rout. ruin, panic, seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.
Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus death made way for liberty.
Requested by R. L. Collins. Sent la
by William Klein.
"A homesteader In Curry" sends tha
"Tramp Ballad" recently requested:
TRAMP BALLAD.
By Harry Kemp.
We huddled in the mlsston.
For it was cold outside.
An' listened to the preacher
Tell of the Crucified:
Without, a sleety drizzle
Cut deep each ragged form.
An" so we stood the talk in"
For shelter from the storm.
They sang of God an' angels
An' heaven's eternal Joy,
An' things I stopped believln'
When I was yet a boy;
They spoke of good an evil
An' offered savin' grace
An' some showed love for mankind;
A-shlnin' in the face.
But some their graft was workln
Th' same as me an' you.
But most was urgln on us
What they believed was true.
We sang, an' dozed, an' listened.
But only feared, us men.
The hour when, service over.
We'd have to mooch again
An walk the Icy pavements.
An' breast the snow storm gray.
'Till the saloons was opened
An' there was hints of day;
So. when they called out, "Sinner,
Won't you come?" I came.
But in my face was pallor.
And in my heart was shame
An' so fergive me, Jesus,
For mockin' of thy name;
r'or I was cold an' hungry
They gave me grub an' bed
After I kneeled there with them
An many prayers were said.
An' so fergive me, Jesus,
I didn't mean no harm '
An' outside-it was zero.
An' inside it was warm,
res! I was cold an hungry.
An' oh. thou Crucified,
Thou friend of all the lowly,
Fergive the He X lied.
HOLLOW HOLLOW.
I stood beneath a hollow tree.
The blast it hollow blew;
I thought upon the hollow world
And all its hollow crew.
Ambition and its holow schemes.
The hollow hopes we follow;
Imsgtnation's hollow dreams.
All hollow, hollow hollow.
A crown it is a hollow thing
And hollow heads oft wear it;
The hollow title of a king.
What hollow hearts oft bear it!
No hollow wiles nor honey'd smiles
Of ladles fair I follow.
For beauty sweet still hides deceit.
'Tis hollow, hollow, hollow.
The hollow leader but betrays
s The hollow dupes who heed him:
The hollow critic vends his praise
To hollow fools who feed him;
The hollow friend who takes your
hand
Is but a Summer swallow;
Whate'r I see is like this tree.
AU hollow, hollow, hollow.
Contributed by C W. CasU
r