THERE will be dreams again! The grass will spread
Her velvet verdure over earth’s torn breast;
By ragged shard, half-hid, where rust runs red,
The soaring lark in spring will build her nest.
There will be dreams again! The primrose pale
Will shelter where the belching guns plowed deep;
The trees will whisper, and the nightingale
Chant golden monodies where heroes sleep.
There will be dreams again! The stars look down
On youthful lovers—oh, first love, how sweet!
And men will wed, and childish laughter crown
Life’s awe-compelling miracle complete.
There will be dreams again! Oh, thou forlorn
That crumbling trench or the slow heaving sea
Hath snatched thy dead—oh, pray thee, do not mourn!
There will be dreams—thy loved shall come to thee!
THE BOY NEXT DOOR
S. E. KISER
in The Saturday Evening Post
Permission to reproduce in this book
THERE used to be a boy next door
Whom I often have longed to throttle;
I’ve wished a thousand times and more
That he had died while “on the bottle”!
Oft in the past it has been hard
For me to check my inclination,
When he had cluttered up our yard,
To hand him heavy castigation.
With freckles on his tilted nose
And ears that far in space protruded,
He was not one, as heaven knows,
To whom I in my prayers alluded.
Derisively he showed his tongue
And scorned the warnings which I gave him,
But now I list myself among
The ones who pray the Lord to save him.