Kelly Ingram

His name was Kelly Ingram; he was Alabama’s son,
And he whistled “Yankee Doodle,” as he stood beside his gun;
There was laughter in his make-up, there was manhood in his face,
And he knew the best traditions and the courage of his race;
Now there’s not a heart among us but should swell with loyal pride
When he thinks of Kelly Ingram and the splendid way he died.

On the swift Destroyer Cassin he was merely gunner’s mate,
But up there to-day, I fancy, he is standing with the great. 
On that grim day last October his position on the craft
Was that portion of the vessel which the sailors christen aft;
There were deep sea bombs beside him to be dropped upon the Hun
Who makes women folks his victims and then gloats o’er what he’s done.

    From the lookout came a warning; came the cry all sailors fear,
    A torpedo was approaching, and the vessel’s doom was near;
    Ingram saw the streak of danger, but he saw a little more,
    A greater menace faced them than that missile had in store;
    If those deep sea bombs beside him were not thrown beneath the wave,
    Every man aboard the Cassin soon would find a watery grave.

It was death for him to linger, but he figured if he ran
And quit his post of duty, ’twould be death for every man;
So he stood at his position, threw those depth bombs overboard,
And when that torpedo struck them, he went forth to meet his Lord. 
Oh, I don’t know how to say it, but these whole United States
Should remember Kelly Ingram—­he who died to save his mates.

The Joy to Be

Oh, mother, be you brave of heart and keep
your bright eyes shining;
Some day the smiles of joy shall start and you
shall cease repining. 
Beyond the dim and distant line the days of
peace are waiting,
When you shall have your soldier fine, and men
shall turn from hating.

Oh, mother, bear the pain a-while, as long ago
you bore it;
You suffered then to win his smile, and you
were happier for it;
And now you suffer once again, and bear your
weight of sorrow;
Yet you shall thrill with gladness when he wins
the glad to-morrow.

Oh, mother, when the cannons roar and all the
brave are fighting,
Remember that the son you bore the wrongs
of earth is righting;
Remember through the hours of pain that he
with all his brothers
Is battling there to win again a happy world
for mothers.

He Should Meet a Mother There

If he should meet a mother there
Along some winding Flanders road,
No extra touch of grief or care
He’ll add unto her heavy load. 
But he will kindly take her arm
And tender as her son will be;
He’ll lead her from the path of harm
Because of me.