Across the fields of waving wheat
And leagues of golden corn
The fragrance of the wild-rose bloom
And elder-flower is borne;
But earth's appealing loveliness
We do but half surmise,
For oh, the blur of battle-fields
Is ever in our eyes.
The robin-red-breast and the wren,
We cannot harken these
For dreadful thunder of the guns
That echoes overseas;
And evermore our vision turns
To those who follow far
The bright white light of Liberty
Through the red fires of war.
Our thoughts are with the hero souls
And hero hearts of gold
Who keep Old Glory's hallowed stars
Untarnished as of old;
Who join their hands with hero hands
In hero lands to save
The fearless forehead of the free
The shameful brand of slave.
And through these days of strife and death,
We know they shall not fail,
That Freedom shall not pass from earth
Nor tyranny prevail;
Yea, those that now in anguish bow,
We know that soon or late
They shall be lifted from beneath
The iron heel of hate.
O brave defenders of the free,
For you our tears of pride!
Lo, every drop of blood you shed
Our hearts have sanctified!
And through these days of strife and death,
These weary night-times through,
Our spirits watch with yours, our love
It hovers over you.
[signed] Evaleen Stein
The Bomb
I
"You are late. Billy's been howling the house down."
"All babies cry, big or little, now and then. The nurse is with Billy. I—" Nellie Cameron paused to smooth a quiver out of her voice—"I am not late."