ge stout,
Who'll see disaster round about
And yet will keep their faith, and fight,
And gain the victory for right.

Taking His Place

He's doing double duty now;
Time's silver gleams upon his brow,
And there are lines upon his face
Which only passing years can trace.
And yet he's turned back many a page
Long written in the book of age,
For since their boy has marched away,
This kindly father, growing gray,
Is doing for the mother true
The many things the boy would do.

Just as the son came home each night
With youthful step and eyes alight,
So he returns, and with a shout
Of greeting puts her grief to rout.
He says that she shall never miss
The pleasure of that evening kiss,
And with strong arms and manner brave
He simulates the hug _he_ gave,
And loves her, when the day is done,
Both as a husband and a son.

His laugh has caught a clearer ring;
His step has claimed the old-time swing,
And though _his_ absence hurts him, too,
The bravest thing that he can do
Is just to try to take _his_ place
And keep the smiles on mother's face.
So, merrily he jests at night--
Tells her with all a boy's delight
Of what has happened in the town,
And thus keeps melancholy down.

Her letters breathe of hope and cheer;
No note of gloom she sends from here,
And as her husband reads at night
The many messages she writes,
He chuckles o'er the closing line.
She's failed his secret to divine--
"When you get home," she tells the lad,
"You'll scarcely know your doting dad;
Although his hair is turning gray,
He seems more like a boy each day."

Christmas, 1918

They give their all, this Christmastide, that peace on earth shall reign;
Upon the snows of Flanders now, brave blood has left its stain;
With ribbons red we deck our gifts; theirs bear the red of pain.

They give their lives that joy shall live and little children play;
They pass that all that makes for peace shall not be swept away;
They die that children yet unborn shall have their Christmas Day.

Come! deck the home with holly wreaths and make this Christmas glow,
And let Old Glory wave above the bough of mistletoe!
Come! keep alive the faith of them who sleep 'neath Flanders snow.

Ye brave of heart who dwell at home, m