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 passed this heritage to me.

    I must always in trouble’s hour
    Be guided by the men in power;
    For God and country I must live,
    My best for God 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,
God 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 shell 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 wishing 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.