There were no buds to swell on waiting trees,
No mating birds to spill upon the air
The liquid sweetness of their melodies
I might, at sunset be serene and proud
Because a few had seen me in the crowd.
—The Chicago Record-Herald.
(596)
Country, Love of—See [Fidelity]; [Home Where the Heart is].
Country, Serving One’s—See [Seeking Service].
COURAGE