“My Crown Prince was a kindly prince, and his
eyes were gentle, too,
And glad were the days of his youth to me when
his wonderful smile I knew. 
Then the Kaiser flattered and spoke him well,
and he sent him out to die,
But his Crown Prince hasn’t felt one hurt and
the heart of me questions why? 
He talks of war in his regal way and he boasts
of his strength to strike,
But his boys all live and he doesn’t know what
the sting of a bullet’s like.

“Rebellion gnaws at the soul of me as I think
of his Crown Prince gay,
And my Prince cold in the arms of death, and
harsh are the things I say. 
I join with the grief-torn muttering men who
challenge the Kaiser’s right
To build his joys on the graves of ours.  We
shall rise in our wrath to smite! 
And this is the thing we shall ask of him:  to
give us the reason why
Our boys must fall on his battlefields, but never
his boys must die?”

Drafted

The biggest moment in our lives was that when first he cried,
From that day unto this, for him, we’ve struggled side by side. 
We can recount his daily deeds, and backwards we can look,
And proudly live again the time when first a step he took.

I see him trudging off to school, his mother at his side,
And when she left him there alone she hurried home and cried. 
And then the sturdy chap of eight that was, I proudly see,
Who packed a little grip and took a fishing trip with me.

    Among the lists of boys to go his name has now appeared;
    To us has come the sacrifice that mothers all have feared;
    And though we dread the parting hour when he shall march away,
    We love him and the Flag too much to ask of him to stay.

His baby ways shall march with him, and every joy we’ve had,
Somewhere in France some day shall be a little brown-eyed lad;
A toddler and a child at school, the chum that once I knew
Shall wear our country’s uniform, for they’ve been drafted, too.

         Reflection

You have given me riches and ease,
You have given me joys through the years,
I have sat in the shade of your trees,
With the song of your birds in my ears. 
I have drunk of your bountiful wine
And done as I’ve chosen to do,
But, oh wonderful country of mine,
’How little have I done for you!

    You have given me safe harbor from harm,
      Untroubled I’ve slept through the nights
    And have waked to the new morning’s charm
      And claimed as my own its delights. 
    I have taken the finest of fine
      From your orchards and fields where it grew,
    But, oh wonderful country of mine,
      How little I’ve given to you!