If it’s wrong to believe in America’s dreams
Of a freedom on earth that’s as real as it seems;
If it’s error to cherish the hope, through and through,
That the Stars in Old Glory’s immaculate blue
Shall shine through the ages, true beacons to men,
We pray that no right phrase shall flow from our pen.

         War’s Homecoming

We little thought how much they meant—­the bleeding hearts of France,
And British mothers wearing black to mark some troop’s advance,
The war was, O, so distant then, the grief so far away,
We couldn’t see the weeping eyes, nor hear the women pray. 
We couldn’t sense the weight of woe that rested on that land,
But now our boy is called to go—­to-day, we understand.

There, some have heard the blackest news that o’er the wires has sped,
And some are living day by day beneath the clouds of dread;
Some fear the worst; some know the worst, but every heart is chilled,
And every soul is sorrow touched and laughter there is stilled. 
There, old folks sit alone and grieve and pray for peace to come,
And now our little boy has heard the summons of the drum.

Their grief was such a distant thing, we made it fruit for speech. 
We never thought in days of old such pain our hearts would reach. 
We talked of it, as people do of sorrow far aloof,
Nor dreamed such care would ever dwell beneath our happy roof. 
But England’s woes are ours to-day, we share the sighs of France;
Our little boy is on the sea with Death to take his chance.

         Next of Kin

I notice when the news comes in
Of one who’s claimed eternal glory,
This simple phrase, “the next of kin,”
Concludes the soldier’s final story. 
This tells the world what voice will choke,
What heart that bit of shrapnel broke,
What father or what mother brave
Will think of Flanders as a grave.

    “The next of kin,” the cable cold
      Wastes not a precious word in telling,
    Yet cannot you and I behold
      The sorrow in some humble dwelling,
    And cannot you and I perceive
    The brave yet lonely mother grieve
    And picture, when that news comes in,
    The anguish of “the next of kin?”

    For every boy in uniform,
      Another soldier brave is fighting;
    A double rank the cannons storm,
      Two lines the cables are uniting,
    And with the hurt each soldier feels,
    At home the other warrior reels;
    Two suffer, freedom’s cause to win: 
    The soldier and “the next of kin.”

    Oh, next of kin, be brave, be strong,
      As brave as was the boy that’s missing;
    The years will many be and long
      That you will hunger for his kissing. 
    Yet he enlisted you with him
    To share war’s bitter price and grim;
    Your service runs through many years
    Because your name with his appears.