We have room for the man who will neighbor here,
Who will keep his hands and his conscience clear;
We have room for the man who’ll respect our laws
And pledge himself to our country’s cause,
But we haven’t an inch of land to give
To the alien breed that will alien live.

Against the vicious we bar the gate! 
This is no breeding ground for hate. 
This is the land of the brave and free
And such we pray it shall always be. 
We have room for men who will love our flag,
But none for the friends of the scarlet rag.

The Boy and the Flag

I want my boy to love his home,
  His Mother, yes, and me: 
I want him, wheresoe’er he’ll roam,
  With us in thought to be. 
I want him to love what is fine,
  Nor let his standards drag,
But, Oh!  I want that boy of mine
  To love his country’s flag!

I want him when he older grows
  To love all things of earth;
And Oh!  I want him, when he knows,
  To choose the things of worth. 
I want him to the heights to climb
  Nor let ambition lag;
But, Oh!  I want him all the time
  To love his country’s flag.

I want my boy to know the best,
  I want him to be great;
I want him in Life’s distant West,
  Prepared for any fate. 
I want him to be simple, too,
  Though clever, ne’er to brag,
But, Oh!  I want him, through and through,
  To love his country’s flag.

I want my boy to be a man,
  And yet, in distant years,
I pray that he’ll have eyes that can
  Not quite keep back the tears
When, coming from some foreign shore
  And alien scenes that fag,
Borne on its native breeze, once more
  He sees his country’s flag.

Too Big a Price

“They say my boy is bad,” she said to me,
  A tired old woman, thin and very frail. 
“They caught him robbing railroad cars, an’ he
  Must spend from five to seven years in jail. 
His Pa an’ I had hoped so much for him. 
  He was so pretty as a little boy—­”
Her eyes with tears grew very wet an’ dim—­
  “Now nothing that we’ve got can give us joy!”

“What is it that you own?” I questioned then. 
  “The house we live in,” slowly she replied,
“Two other houses worked an’ slaved for, when
  The boy was but a youngster at my side,
Some bonds we took the time he went to war;
  I’ve spent my strength against the want of age—­
We’ve always had some end to struggle for. 
  Now shame an’ ruin smear the final page.

“His Pa has been a steady-goin’ man,
  Worked day an’ night an’ overtime as well;
He’s lived an’ dreamed an’ sweated to his plan
  To own the house an’ profit should we sell;
He never drank nor played much cards at night,
  He’s been a worker since our wedding day,
He’s lived his life to what he knows is right,
  An’ why should son of his now go astray?