THE ORPHANS OF FRANCE
Gone are the games that they should be playing;Gone are the trinkets to childhood dear.Hushed are the voices that should be sayingWords of parental cheer.Give them the joy that is theirs by birthright!Give them the smiles they are robbed of! Give,Give them the love that is childhood’s earth-right—Give them the right to live!Franklin P. Adams, Capt., U.S.A.
Gone are the games that they should be playing;Gone are the trinkets to childhood dear.Hushed are the voices that should be sayingWords of parental cheer.Give them the joy that is theirs by birthright!Give them the smiles they are robbed of! Give,Give them the love that is childhood’s earth-right—Give them the right to live!Franklin P. Adams, Capt., U.S.A.
Gone are the games that they should be playing;Gone are the trinkets to childhood dear.Hushed are the voices that should be sayingWords of parental cheer.
Gone are the games that they should be playing;
Gone are the trinkets to childhood dear.
Hushed are the voices that should be saying
Words of parental cheer.
Give them the joy that is theirs by birthright!Give them the smiles they are robbed of! Give,Give them the love that is childhood’s earth-right—Give them the right to live!Franklin P. Adams, Capt., U.S.A.
Give them the joy that is theirs by birthright!
Give them the smiles they are robbed of! Give,
Give them the love that is childhood’s earth-right—
Give them the right to live!
Franklin P. Adams, Capt., U.S.A.
Give, and the baby buds shall growIn childhood’s sheltered garden plot;Give, and the coming years shall showEach blossom a forget-me-not.Give, and the dawn of lonesome yearsShall turn to a springtime morning mild;Give, and receive through a mist of tears,The blessing of a little child.Stuart H. Carroll, Sgt., Q.M.C.
Give, and the baby buds shall growIn childhood’s sheltered garden plot;Give, and the coming years shall showEach blossom a forget-me-not.Give, and the dawn of lonesome yearsShall turn to a springtime morning mild;Give, and receive through a mist of tears,The blessing of a little child.Stuart H. Carroll, Sgt., Q.M.C.
Give, and the baby buds shall growIn childhood’s sheltered garden plot;Give, and the coming years shall showEach blossom a forget-me-not.
Give, and the baby buds shall grow
In childhood’s sheltered garden plot;
Give, and the coming years shall show
Each blossom a forget-me-not.
Give, and the dawn of lonesome yearsShall turn to a springtime morning mild;Give, and receive through a mist of tears,The blessing of a little child.Stuart H. Carroll, Sgt., Q.M.C.
Give, and the dawn of lonesome years
Shall turn to a springtime morning mild;
Give, and receive through a mist of tears,
The blessing of a little child.
Stuart H. Carroll, Sgt., Q.M.C.