The Friendly Greeting

Oh, we have friends in England, and we have friends in France,
And should we have to travel there through some strange circumstance,
Undaunted we should sail away, and gladly should we go,
Because awaiting us would be somebody that we know.

Full many a journey here we make where countless strangers roam,
Yet everywhere our faces turn we find a friend from home. 
Oh, we have friends in distant towns, and friends ’neath foreign skies,
And yet we think of him as lost whene’er a loved one dies.

Yet he has merely traveled on, as many a friend must do;
Within a distant city fair he waits for me and you,
And when shall come our time to make that journey through the gloam,
To welcome us he will be there, the smiling friend from home.

         We Need a Few More Optimists

We need a few more optimists,
The kind that double up their fists
And set their jaws, determined-like,
A blow at infamy to strike. 
Not smiling men, who drift along
And compromise with every wrong;
Not grinning optimists who cry
That right was never born to die,
But optimists who’ll fight to give
The truth an honest chance to live.

    We need a few more optimists
    For places in our fighting lists,
    The kind of hopeful men who make
    Real sacrifice for freedom’s sake;
    The optimist, with purpose strong,
    Who stands to battle every wrong,
    Takes off his coat, and buckles in
    The better joys of earth to win! 
    The optimist who worries lest
    The vile should overthrow the best.

    We need a few more optimists,
    The brave of heart that long resists
    The force of Hate and Greed and lust
    And keeps in God and man his trust,
    Believing, as he makes his fight
    That everything will end all right—­
    Yet through the dreary days and nights
    Unfalteringly serves and fights,
    And helps to gain the joys which he
    Believes are some day sure to be.

    We need a few more optimists
    Of iron hearts and sturdy wrists;
    Not optimists who smugly smile
    And preach that in a little while
    The clouds will fade before the sun,
    But cheerful men who’ll bear a gun,
    And hopeful men, of courage stout,
    Who’ll see disaster round about
    And yet will keep their faith, and fight,
    And gain the victory for right.

         Taking His Place

He’s doing double duty now;
Time’s silver gleams upon his brow,
And there are lines upon his face
Which only passing years can trace. 
And yet he’s turned back many a page
Long written in the book of age,
For since their boy has marched away,
This kindly father, growing gray,
Is doing for the mother true
The many things the boy would do.