When this bitter time is ended I don’t want to have it said
    That I faltered in my courage and I never looked ahead,
    I don’t want it told I added to the burdens and the woe,
    By preaching dismal doctrines that were cheering to the foe;
    I want my children’s children to respect me and to find
    That my soul was out there fighting, though my body stayed behind.

When this cruel test is over and the boys come back from France
I’d not have them say I hindered for a moment their advance;
That they found their duty harder than ’twas needful it should be
Because of the complaining of a lot of men like me. 
Though I’ll win no hero’s medals and deserve no wild applause,
I want to be of service, not a hindrance to the cause.

         The Call

Some will heed the call to arms,
But all must heed the call to grit;
The dreamers on the distant farms
Must rally now to do their bit. 
The whirring lathes in factories great
Will sing the martial songs of strife;
Upon the emery wheel of fate
We’re grinding now the nation’s life.

    The call is not alone to guns,
      This is not but a battle test;
    The world has summoned free men’s sons
      In every field to do their best. 
    The call has come to every man
      To reach the summit of his powers;
    To stand to service where he can;
      A mighty duty now is ours.

    We must be stalwarts in the field
      Where peace has always kept her throne,
    No door against the need is sealed,
      No man to-day can live alone. 
    The young apprentice at the bench,
      The wise inventor, old and gray,
    Serve with the soldier in the trench,
      All warriors for the better day.

    Oh, man of science, unto you
      The call for service now has come! 
    Mechanic, banker, lawyer, too,
      Have you not heard the stirring drum? 
    Oh, humble digger in the ditch,
      Bend to your spade and do your best,
    And prove America is rich
      In manhood fine for every test.

    Each man beneath the starry flag
      Must live his noblest through the strife
    If tyranny is not to drag
      Into the mire the best of life. 
    Though some will wear our uniform,
      We face to-day a common fate
    And all must bravely breast the storm
      And heed the call for courage great.

Thanksgiving

For strength to face the battle’s might,
For men that dare to die for right,
For hearts above the lure of gold
And fortune’s soft and pleasant way,
For courage of our days of old,
Great God of All, we kneel and pray.

We thank Thee for our splendid youth. 
Who fight for liberty and truth,
Within whose breasts there glows anew
The glory of the altar fires
Which our heroic fathers knew—­
God make them worthy of their sires!