ill brighten and sing.

O Glendolyn, weep not at my going,
The weary long hours will pass;
And dawn with its flame and a promise
Will touch the grey sod and dry grass.
The elm in the garden will flower
And the hills on the plains be shining.
That day, then the battle is over,
I will come with swift feet, my Darling.

IN REFLECTION

In the morning of my youth
When my veins were full of strength
There was Dad and Mom to say
What to do. They spoke at length.

Did I listen to the truth?
Much of it has passed me by.
Now if only some one would
Speak to me and tell me why.

MEN MUST TOIL

We wakened in the morning
The wind had blown up cold;
And too, the oaks were grumbling
Like men agrowing old.

We must all work this morning,
Though rough and harsh outside,
Men labor in the storming
For all must eat betide.

THAT CLOSE DRAWN VEIL

If we could lift that close drawn veil and see,
The anxious hours might pass in rest and sleep.
But wait! Could men but sow and counting reap?
Who would toil on when knowing loss must be?
No wild glad hoping with expectancy!
And wooing lover then might he not weep?
The fortune which would grieve--no shop to keep.
Enough. Man can climb higher and be free.
Leave be the veil and let men struggle through.
Let roots strike down and seek the growing needs;
And living stock stretch up toward the sun
With life and hope. Then let men work and woo,
Not anchorless, nor tumbling drift as weeds.
Fulfilment in the end and laurel won.

OUR MORNING LESSON

Love our neighbors as ourselves,
May we fit in where we can,
Love our God and praise his name
Is God's law for mortal man.

WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME

Bright smiles and many tear drops
Are begging loved ones stay;
For not all soldier boys come home
When bugles call today.

Brave lassies wait, toiling, hoping,
And keep the hearth brushed clean,
The home fires glowing brightly
With all about serene.

The heart grows weary often,
For hours and days are long.
But when the fight is over
The land will ring with song.

With all the maidens singing
The full and happy notes,
While men go shouting, marching,
At sight of khaki coats.

And Main Street pushing, crowding,
Will be a surging stream,
For when this war is over
Our joy will be supreme.