Be she the mother of his foe,
      He will not speak to her in hate;
    My boy will never stoop so low
      As motherhood to desecrate. 
    But she shall know what once I knew—­
      Eyes that are glorious to see,
    The light of manhood shining through—­
      Because of me.

    He will salute her as they meet,
      And stand before her bare of head;
    If she be hungry, she may eat
      His last remaining bit of bread. 
    She’ll find those splendid arms and strong
      Quick to assist her, tenderly,
    And they will guard her from all wrong
      Because of me.

    I miss his thoughtful, loving care;
      I miss his smile these dreary days;
    But should he meet a mother there,
      Helpless and lost in war’s grim maze,
    She need not fear to take his arm,
      As though she’d reared him at her knee;
    My son will shield her from all harm
      Because of me.

A Father’s Tribute

I don’t know what they’ll put him at, or what
his post may be;
I cannot guess the task that waits for him across
the sea,
But I have known him through the years, and
when there’s work to do,
I know he’ll meet his duty well, I’ll swear that
he’ll be true.

I sometimes fear that he may die, but never that
he’ll shirk;
If death shall want him death must go and take
him at his work;
This splendid sacrifice he makes is filled with
terrors grim,
And I have many thoughts of fear, but not one
fear of him.

The foe may rob my life of joy, the foe may
take my all,
And desolate my days shall be if he shall have to
fall. 
But this I know, whate’er may be the grief that
I must face,
Upon his record there will be no blemish of
disgrace.

His days have all been splendid days, there lies
no broken trust
Along the pathway of his youth to molder in
the dust;
Honor and truth have marked his ways, in him
I can be glad;
He is as fine and true a son as ever a father had.

Runner McGee

(Who had “Return if Possible” Orders.)

“You’ve heard a good deal of the telephone
wires,” he said as we sat at our ease,
And talked of the struggle that’s taking men’s
lives in these terrible days o’er the seas,
“But I’ve been through the thick of the thing
and I know when a battle’s begun,
It isn’t the phone you depend on for help.  It’s
the legs of a boy who can run.

“It isn’t because of the phone that I’m here. 
To-day you are talking to me
Because of the grit and the pluck of a boy.  His
title was Runner McGee. 
We were up to our dead line an’ fighting alone;
some plan had miscarried, I guess,
And the help we were promised had failed to
arrive.  We were showing all signs of
distress.