It's pursuing the light of a star
That but dimly we see,
And in wresting from things as they are
The joy that should be.
As It Looks to the Boy
His comrades have enlisted, but his mother bids him stay,
His soul is sick with coward shame, his head hangs low to-day,
His eyes no longer sparkle, and his breast is void of pride
And I think that she has lost him though she's kept him at her side.