The proof of a man is the danger test,
That shows him up at his worst or best.
He didn't seem to care for work, he wasn't much at school.
His speech was slow and commonplace—you wouldn't call him fool.
And yet until the war broke out you'd calmly pass him by,
For nothing in his make-up or his way would catch your eye.
He seemed indifferent to the world, the kind that doesn't care—
That's satisfied with just enough to eat and drink and wear;
That doesn't laugh when others do or cry when others weep,
But seems to walk the wakeful world half dormant and asleep;
Then came the war, and soldiers marched and drums began to roll,
And suddenly we realized his body held a soul.
We little dreamed how much he loved his Country and her Flag;
About the glorious Stars and Stripes we'd never heard him brag.
But he was first to volunteer, while brilliant men demurred,
He took the oath of loyalty without a faltering word,
And then we found that he could talk, for one remembered night,
There came a preaching pacifist denouncing men who fight,
And he got up in uniform and looked at him and said:
"I wonder if you ever think about our soldiers dead.
All that you are to-day you owe some soldier in his grave;
If he had been afraid to fight, you still would be a slave."
If he had died a year ago beneath a peaceful sky,
Unjust our memory would have been; of him our tongues would lie.
We should have missed his splendid worth, we should have called him frail
And listed him among the weak and sorry men who fail.
But few regrets had marked his end; he would have passed unmourned—
Perhaps by those who knew him best, indifferently scorned.
But now he stands among us all, eyes bright and shoulders true,
A strong defender of the faith; a man with work to do;
And if he dies, his name shall find its place on history's scroll;
The great chance has revealed to men the splendor of his soul.
Here we are, Britain! the finest and best of us
Taking our coats off and rolling our sleeves,
Answering the thoughtless that once made a jest of us,
Each man a soldier for what he believes.
Here we are, tight little island, in unity!
Tell us the job that you want us to do!
You can depend on us all with impunity.
Give us a task and we'll all see it through.
Here we are, France! every Yankee born man of us
Coming to stand by your side in the fight;
Liberty's cause makes a whole-hearted clan of us.
Here we are, willing to die for the right.
Silently, long from our shores we've admired you,
Secretly proud of the pluck you've displayed.
Brothers we are of the love that inspired you;
Now we are coming, full front, to your aid.
Here we are, Allies! make room in your trenches!
Shoulder to shoulder we'll share in each drive.
Here we are! quitting our lathes and our benches,
Bringing our best that our best shall survive.
Here we are! Liberty's children, red-blooded,
Coming to share in the struggle with you,
Ready to die for the Flag that's star-studded;
Tell us the work that you want us to do.
What is it, fighting or building you're needing?
Boring a mountain or bridging a stream,
Steel work and real work? Your call we are heeding.
Each of us here is a man with a dream.
Here we are! tacklers of tough jobs and dangers,
Any old post where you put us we'll fit;
Coming to serve you as brothers, not strangers;
Here we are, Allies! to offer our bit!
When you were just our little boy, on many a night we crept
Unto your cot and watched o'er you, and all the time you slept.
We tucked the covers round your form and smoothed your pillow, too,
And sometimes stooped and kissed your cheeks, but that you never knew.
Just as we came to you back then through many a night and day,
Our spirits now shall come to you—to kiss and watch and pray.
Whenever you shall look away into God's patch of sky
To think about the folks at home, we shall be standing by.
And as we prayed and watched o'er you when you were wrapped in sleep,
So through your soldier danger now the old-time watch we'll keep.
You will not know that we are there, you will not see or hear,
But all the time in prayer and thought we shall be very near.
The world has made of you a man; the work of man you do,
But unto us you still remain the baby that we knew;
And we shall come, as once we did, on wondrous wings of prayer,
And you will never know how oft in spirit we are there.
We'll stand beside your bed at night, in silence bending low,
And all the love we gave you then shall follow where you go.
Oh, we were proud of you back then, but we are prouder now;
We see the stamp of splendor God has placed upon your brow,
And we who are the folks at home shall pray the old time prayer,
And ask the God of Mercy to protect you with His care.
And as we came to you of old, although you never knew,
The hearts of us, each day and night, shall come with love to you.
"Do your bit!" How cheap and trite
Seems that phrase in such a fight!
"Do your bit!" That cry recall,
Change it now to "Do your all!"
Do your all, and then do more;
Do what you're best fitted for;
Do your utmost, do and give,
You have but one life to live.
Do your finest, do your best,
Don't let up and stop to rest,
Don't sit back and idly say:
"I did something yesterday."
Come on! Here's another hour,
Give it all you have of power.
Here's another day that needs
Everybody's share of deeds.
"Do your bit!" of course, but then
Do it time and time again;
Giving, doing, all should be
Up to full capacity.
Now's no time to pick and choose,
We've a war we must not lose.
Be your duty great or small,
Do it well and do it all.
Do by careful, patient living,
Do by cheerful, open giving;
Do by serving day by day
At whatever post you may;
Do by sacrificing pleasure,
Do by scorning hours of leisure.
Now to God and country give
Every minute that you live.
"The worst is yet to come:"
So wail the doubters glum,
But here's the better view:
"My best I've yet to do."
The worst some always fear;
To-morrow holds no cheer,
Yet farther on life's lane
Are joys you shall attain.
Go forward bravely, then,
And play your part as men,
For this is ever true:
"Our best we've yet to do."
I sometimes wonder when I read the sorrow in his face
If I shall wear that look of care when time has marched apace?
My little boy is five years old and his is twenty-one;
My little boy is home with me; his boy to war has gone.
And I can laugh and dance with life, and I can gayly jest,
But heavy is the heart to-day that beats within his breast.
Time was, his boy was five years old; time was he smiled as I;
I wonder what awaits for me when youth has journeyed by?
Last night I sat at home and watched my little boy at play,
And all the time I thought of him whose boy has gone away.
And in the joy that I possessed I prayed in silence then
That God would quickly bring him back his little boy again.
"What is the glory of age?" I said,
"A hoard of gold and a few dear friends?
When you've reached the day that you look ahead
And see the place where your journey ends,
When Time has robbed you of youthful might—
What is the secret of your delight?"
And an old man smiled as he answered me:
"The glory of age isn't gold or friends,
When we've reached the valley of Soon-To-Be
And note the place where our journey ends;
The glory of age, be it understood,
Is a boy out there who is making good.
"The greatest joy that can come to man
When his sight is dim and his hair is gray;
The greatest glory that God can plan
To cheer the lives of the old to-day,
When they share no more in the battle yell,
Is a boy out there who is doing well."
To us the Flag has little meant.
Each glorious stripe of red
Was woven there to represent
The blood of heroes dead.
On some dim, distant battle line
By other men were gained
The glories that have made it fine,
And idle we've remained.
But now the Flag shall finer grow
And ages yet to be
Shall find the courage that we show
To-day for liberty.
Of other men the Flag has told;
It flies for others' deeds;
Its pride is born of heroes bold
Who served its by-gone needs.
But now our blood shall mingle there
With blood of patriots dead,
And through the years each stripe shall wear
A deeper, truer red.
The splendor of the flag shall gleam
In every radiant star,
And finer shall the banner seem
Because of what we are.
To-day new glory for the Flag
We give our best to build;
Of us shall future ages brag,
By us their blood be thrilled;
And as to us the flag has meant
The greatness of the past,
The Stars and Stripes shall represent
Our courage to the last.
The children in the years to be
Our trials shall discuss,
And cheer the emblem of the free,
In part, because of us.
No war is won by cannon fire alone;
The soldier bears the grim and dreary role;
He dies to serve the Flag that he has known;
His duty is to gain the distant goal.
But if the toiler in his homeland fair
Falter in faith and shrink from every test,
If he be not on duty ever there,