Poems of Patriotism

Front matter

POEMS

OF PATRIOTISM

By Edgar A. Guest “The poet that all America reads and loves”

The Call to Service

The Call to Service

These are the days when little thoughts Must cease men’s minds to occupy; The nation needs men’s larger creeds, Big men must answer to her cry; No longer selfish ways we tread, The greater task lies just ahead. These are the days when petty things By all men must be thrust aside; The country needs men’s finest deeds, Awakened is the nation’s pride; Men must forsake their selfish strife Once more to guard their country’s life.

United

United

Forgotten petty difference now, The larger purpose glows, The storm is here, a common fear Its deadly lightning shows. The Ship of State must bear us all And danger makes us kin, As one, we all shall rise or fall, So shall we strive to win.

Our banner’s flying at the mast, Our course lies straight ahead; The ocean’s trough is deep and rough, The waves are stained with red. The bond of danger tighter grows, We serve a common plan; Send o’er the sea the word that we Are all American.

One hundred million sturdy souls Once more united stand, As one, you will find them all behind The banner of our land.

And side by side they work today In silken garb or rag, And once again our troops of men Are brothers of the flag.

And from the storm that hovers low, And from the angry sea Where dangers lurk and hate’s at work, Shall come new victory. The flag shall know not race nor creed, Nor different bands of men; A people strong round it shall throng To ne’er divide again.

The Time for Deeds

The Time for Deeds

We have boasted our courage in moments of ease, Our star-spangled banner we’ve flung on the breeze; We have taught men to cheer for its beauty and worth, And have called it the flag of the bravest on earth. Now the dark days are here, we must stand to the test. Oh, God! let us prove we are true to our best! We have drunk to our flag, and we’ve talked of the right, We have challenged oppression to show us its might; We have strutted for years through the world as a race That for God and for country, earth’s tyrants would face; Now the gage is flung down, hate is loosed in the world. Oh, God! shall our flag in dishonor be furled?

We have said we are brave; we have preached of the truth, We have walked in conceit of the strength of our youth; We have mocked at the ramparts and guns of the foe, As though we believed we could laugh them all low. Now oppression has struck! We are challenged to fight! Oh, God! let us prove we can stand for the right! If in honor and glory our flag is to wave, If we are to keep this—the land of the brave; If more than fine words are to fashion our creeds, Now must our hands and our hearts turn to deeds. We are challenged by tyrants our strength to reveal! Oh, God! let us prove that our courage is real!

Everywhere in America

Everywhere in America

Not somewhere in America, but everywhere today, Where snow-crowned mountains hold their heads, the vales where children play, Beside the bench and whirring lathe, on every lake and stream And in the depths of earth below, men share a common dream— The dream our brave forefathers had of freedom and of right, And once again in honor’s cause, they rally and unite. Not somewhere in America is love of country found, But east and west and north and south once more the bugles sound, And once again, as one, men stand to break their brother’s chains, And make the world a better place, where only justice reigns. The patriotism that is here, is echoed over there,

The hero at a certain post is on guard everywhere. O’er humble home and mansion rich the starry banner flies, And far and near throughout the land the men of valor rise. The flag that flutters o’er your home is fluttering far away O’er homes that you have never seen. The same impulses sway The souls of men in distant states. The red, the white and blue Means to one hundred million strong, just what it means to you. The self-same courage resolute you feel and understand Is throbbing in the breasts of men throughout this mighty land. Not somewhere in America, but everywhere today, For justice and for liberty all free men work and pray.

The Things That Make a Soldier Great

The Things That Make a Soldier Great

The things that make a soldier great and send him out to die, To face the flaming cannon’s mouth, nor ever question why, Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips red, The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed, The grass plot where his children play, the roses on the wall: ’Tis these that make a soldier great. He’s fighting for them all. ’Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make a soldier brave; ’Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may wave; For soldiers never fight so well on land or on the foam As when behind the cause they see the little place called home.

Endanger but that humble street whereon his children run— You make a soldier of the man who never bore a gun. What is it through the battle smoke the valiant soldier sees? The little garden far away, the budding apple trees, The little patch of ground back there, the children at their play, Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church of gray. The golden thread of courage isn’t linked to castle dome But to the spot, where’er it be—the humble spot called home. And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely there, And homesick soldiers far away know spring is in the air; The tulips come to bloom again, the grass once more is green,

And every man can see the spot where all his joys have been. He sees his children smile at him, he hears the bugle call, And only death can stop him now—he’s fighting for them all.

A Prayer, 1942

A Prayer, 1942

Oh, make us worthy, God, we pray, To do Thy service Here today; Endow us with The strength we need For every Sacrificial deed!

The Joy To Be

The Joy To Be

Oh, mother, be you brave of heart and keep your bright eyes shining; Some day the smiles of joy shall start and you shall cease repining. Beyond the dim and distant line the days of peace are waiting, When you shall have your soldier fine, and men shall turn from hating. Oh, mother, bear the pain awhile, as long ago you bore it; You suffered then to win his smile, and you were happier for it; And now you suffer once again, and bear your weight of sorrow; Yet you shall thrill with gladness when he wins the glad tomorrow. Oh, mother, when the cannons roar and all the brave are fighting, Remember that the son you bore the wrongs of earth is righting;

Remember through the hours of pain that he with all his brothers Is battling there to win again a happy world for mothers.

Runner McGee

Runner McGee (Who had “Return if Possible” orders)

“You’ve heard a good deal of the telephone wires,” he said as we sat at our ease, And talked of the struggle that’s taking men’s lives in these terrible days o’er the seas, “But I’ve been through the thick of the thing and I know when a battle’s begun, It isn’t the phone you depend on for help. It’s the legs of a boy who can run.

“It isn’t because of the phone that I’m here. Today you are talking to me Because of the grit and the pluck of a boy. His title was Runner McGee.

We were up to our dead line an’ fighting alone; some plan had miscarried, I guess, An’ the help we were promised had failed to arrive. We were showing all signs of distress. “Our curtain of fire was ahead of us still, an’ theirs was behind us an’ thick, An’ there wasn’t a thing we could do for ourselves—the few of us left had to stick. You haven’t much chance to get Central an’ talk on the phone to the music of guns; Gettin’ word to the chief is a matter right then that is up to the fellow who runs. “I’d sent four of ’em back with the R. I. P. sign, which means to return if you can, But none of ’em got through the curtain of fire; my hurry call died with the man. Then Runner McGee said he’d try to get through. I hated to order the kid On his mission of death; thought he’d never get by, but somehow or other he did.

“Yes, he’s dead. Died an hour after bringing us word that the chief was aware of our plight, An’ for us to hang on to the ditch that we held; the reserves would relieve us at night. Then we stuck to our trench an’ we stuck to our guns; you know how you’ll fight when you know That new strength is coming to fill up the gaps. There’s heart in the force of your blow. “It wasn’t till later I got all the facts. They wanted McGee to remain. They begged him to stay. He had cheated death once an’ was foolish to try it again. ‘R. I. P. are my orders,’ he answered them all, ‘an’ back to the boys I must go; Four of us died comin’ out with the news. It will help them to know that you know.’”

A Father’s Tribute

A Father’s Tribute

I don’t know what they’ll put him at, or what his post may be; I cannot guess the task that waits for him across the sea, But I have known him through the years, and when there’s work to do, I know he’ll meet his duty well, I’ll swear that he’ll be true. I sometimes fear that he may die, but never that he’ll shirk; If death shall want him death must go and take him at his work; This splendid sacrifice he makes is filled with terrors grim, And I have many thoughts of fear, but not one fear of him. The foe may rob my life of joy, the foe may take my all, And desolate my days shall be if he shall have to fall,

But this I know, whate’er may be the grief that I must face, Upon his record there will be no blemish of disgrace. His days have all been splendid days, there lies no broken trust Along the pathway of his youth to molder in the dust; Honor and truth have marked his ways, in him I can be glad; He is as fine and true a son as ever a father had.

A Patriotic Creed

A Patriotic Creed

To serve my country day by day At any humble post I may; To honor and respect her flag, To live the traits of which I brag; To be American in deed As well as in my printed creed. To stand for truth and honest toil, To till my little patch of soil And keep in mind the debt I owe To them who died that I might know My country, prosperous and free, And passed this heritage to me. I must always in trouble’s hour Be guided by the men in power; For God and country I must live, My best for God and country give; No act of mine that men may scan Must shame the name American. To do my best and play my part, American in mind and heart;

To serve the flag and bravely stand To guard the glory of my land; To be American in deed, God grant me strength to keep this creed.

Envy

Envy

It’s a bigger thing you’re doing than the most of us have done; We have lived the days of pleasure; now the gray days have begun, And upon your manly shoulders fall the burdens of the strife; Yours must be the sacrifices of the trial time of life. Oh, I don’t know how to say it, but I’ll never think of you Without wishing I were sharing in the work you have to do.

I have never known a moment that was fraught with real care, Save the hurts and griefs of sorrow that all mortals have to bear; With the gay and smiling marchers I have tramped on pleasant ways, And have paid with feeble service for the gladness of my days. But to you has come a summons, yours are days of sacrifice, And for all life has of sweetness you must pay a bitter price. Men have fought and died before me, men must fight and die today, I have merely taken pleasures for which others had to pay; I have been a man of laughter, there’s no path my feet have made, I have merely been a marcher in life’s gaudy dress parade. But you wear the garb of service, you have splendid deeds to do, You shall sound the depths of manhood and, my boy, I envy you.

The Alarm

The Alarm

Get off your downy cots of ease, There’s work that must be done. Great danger’s riding on the seas, The storm is coming on. Don’t think that it will quickly pass. Who smiles at distant fate And waits until it strikes, alas! Has roused himself too late.

Who thinks the fight will end before The need of him arrives, Is lengthening this brutal war And costing many lives. For over us that storm shall break Ere many weeks have fled, And we shall pay for our mistake In fields of mangled dead.

Be ready when the foe shall near, Be there to strike him hard; Let us, though he be miles from here, Be standing now on guard.

Tomorrow’s victories won’t be won By pluck that we display Tomorrow when the foe comes on, But by our work today.

For Your Boy and Mine

For Your Boy and Mine

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall rest, But that our children after us shall know life at its best; For all we care about ourselves—a crust of bread or two, A place to sleep and clothes to wear is all that we’d pursue. We’d tramp the world on sunny days, both light of heart and mind, And give no thought to days to come or days we leave behind.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall play, But that our children after us shall tread a merry way. We brave the toil of life for them, for them we clamber high, And if ’twould spare them hurt and pain, for them we’d gladly die. If we had but ourselves to serve, we’d quit the ways of pride And with the simplest joys of earth we’d all be satisfied. The best for them is what we dream. Our little girls and boys Must know the finest life can give of comforts and of joys. They must be shielded well from woe and kept secure from care, And if we could, upon our backs their burdens we would bear. And so once more we rise today to face the battle zone That those who follow us may know the flag that we have known.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall live; The greatest joys we hope to claim are those that we shall give. We face the heat and strife of life, its battle and its toil That those who follow us may know the best of freedom’s soil. And if we knew that by our death we’d keep that flag on high, For your boy and my boy how gladly we would die.

Thoughts of a Soldier

Thoughts of a Soldier

Since men with life must purchase life And some must die that more may live, Unto the Great Cashier of strife A fine accounting let me give. Perhaps tomorrow I shall stand Before his cage, prepared to buy New splendor for my native land: Oh, God, then bravely let me die!

If after I shall fall, shall rise A fairer land than I have known, I shall not grudge my sacrifice, Although I pay the price alone. If still more beautiful to see The Stars and Stripes o’er men shall wave And finer shall my country be, Tomorrow let me find my grave.

Tonight life seems so fair and sweet, Yet tyranny is stalking here, And hate and lust and foul deceit Hang heavy on the atmosphere.

Injustice seeks to throttle right, And laughter’s stifled to a sigh. If death can take so great a blight From human lives, then let me die.

If death must be the cost of life, And freedom’s terms are human souls, Into the thickest of the strife Then let me go to pay the tolls. I would enrich my native land, New splendor to her flag I’d give, If where I fall shall freedom stand, And where I die shall freedom live.

Tomorrow death with me may trade; Let me not quibble o’er the price; But may I, once the bargain’s made, With courage meet the sacrifice. If happiness for ages long My little term of life can buy, God, for my country make me strong; Tomorrow let me bravely die.

A Battle Prayer

A Battle Prayer

God of battles, be with us now: Guard our sons from the lead of shame, Watch our sons when the cannons flame, Let them not to a tyrant bow. God of battles, to Thee we pray: Be with each loyal son who fights In the cause of justice and human rights, Grant him strength and lead the way. God of battles, our youth we give To the battle line on a foreign soil, To conquer hatred and lust and spoil; Grant that they and their cause shall live.

The Mother on the Sidewalk

The Mother on the Sidewalk

The mother on the sidewalk as the troops are marching by Is the mother of Old Glory that is waving in the sky. Men have fought to keep it splendid, men have died to keep it bright, But that flag was born of woman and her sufferings day and night; ’Tis her sacrifice has made it, and once more we ought to pray For the brave and loyal mother of the boy that goes away. There are days of grief before her, there are hours that she will weep, There are nights of anxious waiting when her fear will banish sleep; She has heard her country calling and has risen to the test, And has placed upon the altar of the nation’s need, her best. And no man shall ever suffer in the turmoil of the fray

The anguish of the mother of the boy who goes away. You may boast men’s deeds of glory, you may tell their courage great, But to die is easier service than alone to sit and wait, And I hail the little mother, with the tear-stained face and grave Who has given the flag a soldier—she’s the bravest of the brave. And that banner we are proud of, with its red and blue and white Is a lasting tribute holy to all mothers’ love of right.

The Big Deeds

The Big Deeds

We are done with little thinking and we’re done with little deeds, We are done with petty conduct and we’re done with narrow creeds; We have grown to men and women, and we’ve noble work to do, And today we are a people with a larger point of view. In a big way we must labor, if our flag shall always fly, In a big way some must suffer, in a big way some must die. There must be no little dreaming in the visions that we see, There must be no selfish planning in the joys that are to be; We have set our faces eastward to the rising of the sun That shall light a better nation, and there’s big work to be done. And the petty souls and narrow, seeking only selfish gain,

Shall be vanquished by the toilers big enough to suffer pain. It’s a big task we have taken; ’tis for others we must fight. We must see our duty clearly in a white and shining light; We must quit our little circles where we’ve moved in little ways, And work, as men and women, for the bigger, better days. We must quit our selfish thinking and our narrow views and creeds, And as people, big and splendid, we must do the bigger deeds.

The Better Thing

The Better Thing

It is better to die for the flag, For its red and its white and its blue, Than to hang back and shirk and to lag And let the flag sink out of view. It is better to give up this life In the heat and the thick of the strife Than to live out your days ’neath a sky, Where Old Glory shall never more fly. The peace that we long for will be Far worse than the war that we dread If never again we’re to see The blue and the white and the red Wind-tossed and sun-kissed in the skies. If ever the Stars and Stripes dies Or loses its luster and pride, We shall wish in our souls we had died. It is better by far that we die Than that flag shall pass out of the world; If ever it ceases to fly, If ever it’s hauled down and furled,

Dishonor shall stamp us with shame And freedom be naught but a name, And the few years of dearly bought breath Will be filled with worse horrors than death.

The Flag on the Farm

The Flag on the Farm

We’ve raised a flagpole on the farm And flung Old Glory to the sky, And it’s another touch of charm That seems to cheer the passer-by, But more than that, no matter where We’re laboring in wood and field, We turn and see it in the air, Our promise of a greater yield. It whispers to us all day long From dawn to dusk: “Be true, be strong; Who falters now with plow or hoe Gives comfort to his country’s foe.”

It seems to me I’ve never tried To do so much about the place, Nor been so slow to come inside. But since I’ve got the flag to face, Each night when I come home to rest I feel that I must look up there And say: “Old Flag, I’ve done my best, Today I’ve tried to do my share.” And sometimes, just to catch the breeze, I stop my work, and o’er the trees Old Glory fairly shouts my way: “You’re shirking far too much today!” The help have caught the spirit, too; The hired man takes off his cap Before the old red, white, and blue, Then to the horses says: “Giddap!” And starting bravely to the field He tells the milkmaid by the door: “We’re going to make these acres yield More than they’ve ever done before.” She smiles to hear his gallant brag, Then drops a curtsey to the flag, And in her eyes there seems to shine A patriotism that is fine.

We’ve raised a flagpole on the farm And flung Old Glory to the sky, We’re far removed from war’s alarm, But courage here is running high. We’re doing things we never dreamed We’d ever find the time to do; Deeds that impossible once seemed Each morning now we hurry through, The flag now waves above our toil And sheds its glory on the soil, And boy and man look up to it As if to say: “I’ll do my bit!”

A Good Soldier

A Good Soldier

He writes to us most every day, and how his letters thrill us! I can’t describe the joys with which his quaint expressions fill us. He says the military life is not of his selection, He’s only soldiering today to give the flag protection. But since he’s in the army now and doing duties humble, He’ll do what all good soldiers must, and he will never grumble. He’s not so keen for standing guard, a lonely vigil keeping, “But when I must,” he writes to us, “they’ll never find me sleeping! I hear a lot of boys complain about the tasks they set us And there’s no doubt that mother’s meals can beat the ones they get us, But since I’m here to do my bit, close to the job I’m sticking; I’ll take whatever comes my way and waste no word in kicking.

“I’d like to be a captain, Dad, a major or a colonel, I’d like to get my picture in some illustrated journal; I don’t exactly fancy jobs that now and then come my way, Like picking bits of rubbish up that desecrate the highway. But still I’ll do those menial tasks as cheerfully as could one, For while I am a private here I’m going to be a good one. “A soldier’s life is not the way I’d choose to make my living, But now I’m in the ranks to serve, my best to it I’m giving. Oh, I could name a dozen jobs that I’d consider finer, But since I’ve got this one to do I’ll never be a whiner. I’m just a private in the ranks, but take it from my letter, They’ll never fire your son for one who’ll his duty better.”

Out of It All

Out of It All

Out of it all shall come splendor and gladness, Out of the madness and out of the sadness, Clearer and finer the world shall arise. Why then keep sorrow and doubt in your eyes? Joy shall be ours when the warfare is over; Children shall gleefully romp in the clover; Here with our heroes at home and at rest, We shall rejoice with the world at its best. Not in vain, not in vain, is our bright banner flying; Not for naught are the sons of our fond mothers dying; The gloom and despair are not ever to last; The world shall be better when they shall have passed. So mourn not his absence, but smile and be brave; You shall have him again from the brink of the grave

In a wonderful world ’neath a wonderful sun; He shall come to your arms with his victory won.

Soldierly

Soldierly

The glory of a soldier—and a soldier’s not a saint— Is the way he does his duty without grumbling or complaint; His work’s not always pleasant, but he does it rain or shine, An’ he grabs a bit of glory when he’s fighting in the line; But the lesson that he teaches every day to me an’ you Is the way to do a duty that we do not like to do.

Any sort o’ chap can whistle when his work is mostly fun; A hundred want the pleasant jobs to every sturdy one That’ll grab the dreary duty an’ the mean an’ lowly task, Or the drab an’ cheerless service that life often has to ask; But somebody has to do it, an’ the test of me an’ you Is the way we face the labor that we do not like to do. Now, it isn’t very pleasant standin’ guard out in the rain, But it’s in the line of duty, an’ no soldier will complain, An’ there isn’t any soldier but what sometimes hates his work When the dress parade is over, an’ perhaps he’d like to shirk, But he’s there to follow orders, not to pick an’ choose his post, An’ he sometimes shines the finest at the job he hates the most.

Let’s be soldiers in the struggle, let’s be loyal through and through; Life is going to give us duties that perhaps we’ll hate to do. There’ll be little sacrifices that we will not like to make, There’ll be many tasks unpleasant that will fall to us to take. An’ although we all would rather do the work that brings applause, Let’s forget our whims an’ fancies an’ just labor for the cause.

Follow the Flag

Follow the Flag

Aye, we will follow the flag Wherever she goes, Into the tropic sun, Into the northern snows; Go where the guns ring out Scattering steel and lead, Painting the hills with blood, Strewing the fields with dead. But in each heart must be, And back of each bitter gun, Love for the best in life After the fighting’s done.

Aye, we will follow the flag Into benighted lands, Brave in the faith for which, Proudly, our banner stands. Life for her life we’ll pay, Blood for her blood we’ll give, Fighting, but not to kill, Save that the best shall live. But, when the cannon’s roar Dies in a hymn of peace,

Justice and truth must reign, Power of the brute must cease.

Aye, we will follow the flag, Gladly her work we’ll do, Banishing wrongs of old, Founding the truth anew. What though our guns must speak, What though brave men must die, Ages of truth to come All this shall justify. Men in the charms of peace, Basking in Freedom’s sun, Some day shall bless our flag After our work is done.

Aye, we will follow the flag Wherever she goes, Into the tropic sun, Into the northern snows. Fearlessly, on we’ll go Into the cruel strife, Gladly the few shall die, Winning for many, life.

Tyranny’s wrongs must cease, Brutes must no longer brag, This is our work on earth, So we will follow the flag.

We’ve Had a Letter from the Boy

We’ve Had a Letter from the Boy

We’ve had a letter from the boy, And, oh, the gladness and the joy It brought to us! We read it o’er I’d say a dozen times or more. We laughed until the teardrops fell At all the fun he had to tell. He’s in the navy, wearing blue, And everything is all so new That he can see in youthful style The funny things to make us smile.