| Dear little flag in the window there, |
| Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer, |
| Child of Old Glory, born with a star— |
| Oh, what a wonderful flag you are! |
| |
| Blue is your star in its field of white, |
| Dipped in the red that was born of fight; |
| Born of the blood that our forebears shed |
| To raise your mother, The Flag, o'er-head. |
| |
| And now you've come, in this frenzied day, |
| To speak from a window—to speak and say: |
| "I am the voice of a soldier son, |
| Gone, to be gone till the victory's won. |
| |
| "I am the flag of The Service, sir: |
| The flag of his mother—I speak for her |
| Who stands by my window and waits and fears, |
| But hides from the others her unwept tears. |
| |
| "I am the flag of the wives who wait |
| For the safe return of a martial mate— |
| A mate gone forth where the war god thrives, |
| To save from sacrifice other men's wives. |
| |
| "I am the flag of the sweethearts true; |
| The often unthought of—the sisters, too. |
| I am the flag of a mother's son, |
| Who won't come home till the victory's won!" |
| |
| Dear little flag in the window there, |
| Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer, |
| Child of Old Glory, born with a star— |
| Oh, what a wonderful flag you are! |
| |
| William Herschell. |
| Cheeriest room, that morn, the kitchen. Helped by Bridget's willing hands, |
| Bustled Hannah, deftly mixing pies, for ready waiting pans. |
| Little Flossie flitted round them, and her curling, floating hair |
| Glinted gold-like, gleamed and glistened, in the sparkling sunlit air; |
| Slouched a figure o'er the lawn; a man so wretched and forlore, |
| Tattered, grim, so like a beggar, ne'er had trod that path before. |
| His shirt was torn, his hat was gone, bare and begrimed his knees, |
| Face with blood and dirt disfigured, elbows peeped from out his sleeves. |
| Rat-tat-tat, upon the entrance, brought Aunt Hannah to the door; |
| Parched lips humbly plead for water, as she scanned his misery o'er; |
| Wrathful came the dame's quick answer; made him cower, shame, and start |
| Out of sight, despairing, saddened, hurt and angry to the heart. |
| "Drink! You've had enough, you rascal. Faugh! The smell now makes me sick, |
| Move, you thief! Leave now these grounds, sir, or our dogs will help you quick." |
| Then the man with dragging footsteps hopeless, wishing himself dead, |
| Crept away from sight of plenty, starved in place of being fed, |
| Wandered farther from the mansion, till he reached a purling brook, |
| Babbling, trilling broken music by a green and shady nook, |
| Here sweet Flossie found him fainting; in her hands were food and drink; |
| Pale like death lay he before her, yet the child-heart did not shrink; |
| Then the rags from off his forehead, she with dainty hands offstripped, |
| In the brooklet's rippling waters, her own lace-trimmed 'kerchief dipped; |
| Then with sweet and holy pity, which, within her, did not daunt, |
| Bathed the blood and grime-stained visage of that sin-soiled son of want. |
| Wrung she then the linen cleanly, bandaged up the wound again |
| Ere the still eyes opened slowly; white lips murmuring, "Am I sane?" |
| "Look, poor man, here's food and drink. Now thank our God before you take." |
| Paused he mute and undecided, while deep sobs his form did shake |
| With an avalanche of feeling, and great tears came rolling down |
| O'er a face unused to showing aught except a sullen frown; |
| That "our God" unsealed a fountain his whole life had never known, |
| When that human angel near him spoke of her God as his own. |
| "Is it 'cause my aunty grieved you?" Quickly did the wee one ask. |
| "I'll tell you my little verse then, 'tis a holy Bible task, |
| It may help you to forgive her: 'Love your enemies and those |
| Who despitefully may use you; love them whether friends or foes!'" |
| Then she glided from his vision, left him prostrate on the ground |
| Conning o'er and o'er that lesson—with a grace to him new found. |
| Sunlight filtering through green branches as they wind-wave dance and dip, |
| Finds a prayer his mother taught him, trembling on his crime-stained lip. |
| Hist! a step, an angry mutter, and the owner of the place, |
| Gentle Flossie's haughty father, and the tramp stood face to face! |
| "Thieving rascal! you've my daughter's 'kerchief bound upon your brow; |
| Off with it, and cast it down here. Come! be quick about it now." |
| As the man did not obey him, Flossie's father lashed his cheek |
| With a riding-whip he carried; struck him hard and cut him deep. |
| Quick the tramp bore down upon him, felled him, o'er him where he lay |
| Raised a knife to seek his life-blood. Then there came a thought to stay |
| All his angry, murderous impulse, caused the knife to shuddering fall: |
| "He's her father; love your en'mies; 'tis 'our God' reigns over all." |
| |
| At midnight, lambent, lurid flames light up the sky with fiercest beams, |
| Wild cries, "Fire! fire!" ring through the air, and red like blood each flame now seems; |
| They faster grow, they higher throw weird, direful arms which ever lean |
| About the gray stone mansion old. Now roars the wind to aid the scene; |
| The flames yet higher, wilder play. A shudder runs through all around— |
| Distinctly as in light of day, at topmost window from the ground |
| Sweet Flossie stands, her golden hair enhaloed now by firelit air. |
| Loud rang the father's cry: "O God! my child! my child! Will no one dare |
| For her sweet sake the flaming stair?" Look, one steps forth with muffled face, |
| Leaps through the flames with fleetest feet, on trembling ladder runs a race |
| With life and death—the window gains. Deep silence falls on all around, |
| Till bursts aloud a sobbing wail. The ladder falls with crashing sound— |
| A flaming, treacherous mass. O God! she was so young and he so brave! |
| Look once again. See! see! on highest roof he stands—the fiery wave |
| Fierce rolling round—his arms enclasp the child—God help him yet to save! |
| "For life or for eternal sleep," |
| He cries, then makes a vaulting leap, |
| A tree branch catches, with sure aim, |
| And by the act proclaims his name; |
| The air was rent, the cheers rang loud, |
| A rough voice cried from out the crowd, |
| "Huzza, my boys, well we know him, |
| None dares that leap but Flying Jim!" |
| A jail-bird—outlaw—thief, indeed, |
| Yet o'er them all takes kingly lead. |
| "Do now your worst," his gasping cry, |
| "Do all your worst, I'm doomed to die; |
| I've breathed the flames, 'twill not be long"; |
| Then hushed all murmurs through the throng. |
| With reverent hands they bore him where |
| The summer evening's cooling air |
| Came softly sighing through the trees; |
| The child's proud father on his knees |
| Forgiveness sought of God and Jim, |
| Which dying lips accorded him. |
| A mark of whip on white face stirred |
| To gleaming scarlet at his words. |
| "Forgive them all who use you ill, |
| She taught me that and I fulfill; |
| I would her hand might touch my face, |
| Though she's so pure and I so base." |
| Low Flossie bent and kissed the brow, |
| With smile of bliss transfigured now: |
| Death, the angel, sealed it there, |
| 'Twas sent to God with "mother's prayer." |
| |
| Emma Dunning Banks. |
| In a pioneer's cabin out West, so they say, |
| A great big black grizzly trotted one day, |
| And seated himself on the hearths and began |
| To lap the contents of a two gallon pan |
| Of milk and potatoes,—an excellent meal,— |
| And then looked, about to see what he could steal. |
| The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep, |
| And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep |
| Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there, |
| And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear. |
| |
| So he screamed in alarm to his slumbering frau, |
| "Thar's a bar in the kitchen as big's a cow!" |
| "A what?" "Why, a bar!" "Well murder him, then!" |
| "Yes, Betty, I will, if you'll first venture in." |
| So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized. |
| While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed, |
| As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows. |
| Now on his forehead, and now on his nose, |
| Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within, |
| "Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin, |
| Now poke with the poker, and' poke his eyes out." |
| So, with rapping and poking, poor Betty alone |
| At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone. |
| |
| Now when the old man saw the bear was no more, |
| He ventured to poke his nose out of the door, |
| And there was the grizzly stretched on the floor, |
| Then off to the neighbors he hastened, to tell |
| All the wonderful things that that morning befell; |
| And he published the marvellous story afar, |
| How "me and my Betty jist slaughtered a bar! |
| O yes, come and see, all the neighbors they seed it, |
| Come and see what we did, me and Betty, we did it." |