west, the fires burned low; and out of dying
embers rose shadowy forms that beckoned weary eyes to the land of
dreams.

To each sleeping soldier boy
Magi dreams bring gifts of joy;
Sweet and pure as mother love
Brought by angels from above.

Dreams of home across the sea
And of scenes loved tenderly,
As he left them yesterday
When he turned and marched away.

Dreams of mother at the door
Standing as in days of yore,
Calling him to come from play
At the closing of the day.

Dreams of maiden, boyhood friend,
Down the road beyond the bend,
Where the trees made welcome shade
Trysting place for boy and maid.

Where he told her of his love
Pure and true as stars above,
And she answered with her eyes
Beautiful as Paradise.

* * * * *

Dream on, soldier boy of mine,
May sweet memory entwine
Love that thrills with hope that cheers,
Wakening day with yester years!
May sweet morrow's dawning beam
Hallow and make real thy dream.

At midnight as I lay wrapped in my blanket beside the fire's expiring
embers, Colonel Degan came to me and said, "I am leaving you, Chaplain.
Good-bye and the best of luck." He was on his way to another sector; and
although I have never seen him since, I still recall him as a splendid
soldier and a devoted friend.

At Units the following morning, I said Mass and gave the Sacraments to
quite a number of the boys. Among these I recall Machine Gunner Brady of
the 34th Infantry, brother of my friend, Father Brady, of St. Agnes
Church, Chicago.

Meanwhile the waiting trains had been boarded and promptly at noon we
rolled away into the mysterious Northeast. How good it seemed to be once
more on the move! The utmost caution was now to be observed--no lights
on the train at night, not even a headlight on the engine. Softly the
boys sang,

"We don't know where we're going,
But we're on our way."

In monotone the steel rails seemed to plaintively reply,

"Art is long and Time is fleeting,
And your hearts though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."

Our afternoon hours were given something of a thrill in watching the
evolutions of a half dozen planes, skirmish escort men of the air,
flying high and wide covering our movements. We were now on the division
of road operated by our own gall