smile and look brave and for lonely hours save
The torrent of tears that must flow.

Whose heart is it knows that wherever he goes
He'll be true to his country and flag?
That he'll fight the good fight and die, serving the Right
With never a boast or a brag?
It's the mother whose breast as a babe he caressed
And who watched o'er his childhood with joy.
Though the years may have flown, and to manhood he's grown,
Yet to mother he's always--"My boy"!

Who is it can yearn for the soldier's return,
When the trumpet of war calls no more:
When victorious he sees his proud flag kiss the breeze
Of his own, his beloved, native shore?
It's the mother whose face like a halo of grace
Hovered near him to cheer him afar.
Angels envy her joy as she welcomes her boy
Triumphant returned from the war!

Who is it shall kneel at the graveside and feel
The full woe of a soldier boy, dead!
Who shall measure such loss, who shall carry the cross,
And yet live, when his spirit is fled?
It's the mother who'll wait at Death's golden gate,
Where sorrow and parting shall cease!
And she evermore with her boy as of yore,
Shall be crowned in the Kingdom of Peace!

One of the brave company commanders in this Battalion was Captain Hall.
Coming to me he said, "Chaplain, if I get 'bumped' in this attack, I
want you to do me a favor." He then gave me a written message to a
certain person in the Division who owed him $300.00. "Get after him,
will you, Chaplain, and see that the money reaches my folks." "I will be
glad to, Captain," I replied. Then, as one good turn deserved another, I
wrote out and handed him a little note, which, if he, and not I, came
through alive, was to be forwarded to my Chicago home. The Captain was a
graduate of West Point, and had seen hard service both on the western
plains and in the Cuban war. His hair was gray, and he wore a long gray
mustache of which he was proud, and which he was in the habit, when
especially thoughtful, of stroking. My hair also was gray, especially
since our last gas attack in Bois-le-Pretre.

A Captain from Philadelphia lying in the mud not far from us, noticing
our two gray heads close together, mischievously and in a stage whisper
remarked, "Old men for counsel, but young men for action!" What Captain
Hall, blazing with sudden wrath, thereupon said to him, I think it jus