TO HAPPIER DAYS
MABEL McELLIOTT
in The Chicago Sunday Tribune
AGAINST the shabby house I pass each day
(The town is strange, and all so new to see)
Pink hollyhocks made friendly sport of me,
With nod and smile and endless courtesy
Enlive the lonely sameness of my way.
Slim little maids in rosy morning frocks,
They make a splash of color on the gray—
The sun so bright—a pity not to play,
But this old world is sadly work-a-day,
And I must hasten on, my hollyhocks!
I like to think that somewhere, overseas,
Perhaps in some neglected garden place,
Shy flowers from home lean out with wayward grace—
Blue iris and the valley lilies’ lace—
Reminding them of happier times than these, ...
Of happy times that are so soon to be,
When they come marching home to us—our men—
The world’s work done, the land made clean again!
YOUR LAD, AND MY LAD
RANDALL PARRISH
in The Chicago Tribune
DOWN toward the deep-blue water, marching to throb of drum,
From city street and country lane the lines of khaki come;
The rumbling guns, the sturdy tread, are full of grim appeal,
While rays of western sunshine flash back from burnished steel.
With eager eyes and cheeks aflame the serried ranks advance;
And your dear lad, and my dear lad, are on their way to France.
A sob clings choking in the throat, as file on file sweep by,
Between those cheering multitudes, to where the great ships lie;
The batteries halt, the columns wheel, to clear-toned bugle-call.
With shoulders squared and faces front they stand a khaki wall.
Tears shine on every watcher’s cheek, love speaks in every glance;
For your dear lad, and my dear lad, are on their way to France.
Before them, through a mist of years, in soldier buff or blue,
Brave comrades from a thousand fields watch now in proud review;
The same old Flag, the same old Faith,—the Freedom of the World—
Spells Duty in those flapping folds above long ranks unfurled.
Strong are the hearts which bear along Democracy’s advance,
As your dear lad, and my dear lad, go on their way to France.