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When Germany Lost The War
No man knows exactly when and where the three and twenty al...

The Beast In Man
A German leader once said, "The oldest right in the world i...

Verdun
She is a wall of brass; You shall not pass! You sh...

They Shall Not Pass
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The Murder Of Captain Fryatt
Captain Charles Fryatt was in command of a British steamshi...

The Russian Revolution
The controller, as he is called on the Siberian railroad, w...

Cardinal Mercier
He is an old man, nearly seventy, with thin, grayish-white ...

Edith Cavell
Americans are particularly interested in the story of Edith...

Son
He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sk...

Alan Seeger
As England and the world lost Rupert Brooke, so America and...

Why We Fight Germany
Because of Belgium, invaded, outraged, enslaved, impoverish...

At School Near The Lines
The boys and girls in America have listened with great inte...

Can War Ever Be Right?
After England had entered the war against the Central Power...

Marshal Foch
A Great German philosopher said many years ago that history...

Defense Of LiÉge
To Germany's unfair and treacherous proposal that Belgium b...

A Ballad Of French Rivers
Of streams that men take honor in The Frenchman ...

Raemaekers
There are many ways of fighting, and the Germans, in their ...

A King Of Heroes
"King" is not a word that will go out of use when the world...

The Destruction Of Louvain
More than one hundred years ago, Napoleon, the famous Frenc...

The God In Man
A soldier on the firing step, aiming at the enemy, is sudde...



Son






He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sky!
And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.
For my hair is gray, and his was gold; he'd the best of his life
to live;
And I'd loved him so, and I'm old, I'm old; and he's all I had to
give.

Ah, yes, he was proud and swift and gay, but oh, how my eyes were
dim!
With the sun in his heart he went away, but he took the sun with
him.
For look! How the leaves are falling now, and the winter won't be
long....
Oh, boy, my boy with the sunny brow, and the lips of love and of
song!

How we used to sit at the day's sweet end, we two by the
fire-light's gleam,
And we'd drift to the Valley of Let's Pretend, on the beautiful
River of Dream.
Oh, dear little heart! All wealth untold would I gladly, gladly pay
Could I just for a moment closely hold that golden head to my gray.

For I gaze in the fire, and I'm seeing there a child, and he waves
to me;
And I run and I hold him up in the air, and he laughs and shouts
with glee;
A little bundle of love and mirth, crying: "Come, Mumsie dear!"
Ah, me! If he called from the ends of the earth I know that my
heart would hear.

* * * * *

Yet the thought comes thrilling through all my pain: how worthier
could he die?
Yea, a loss like that is a glorious gain, and pitiful proud am I.
For Peace must be bought with blood and tears, and the boys of our
hearts must pay;
And so in our joy of the after-years, let us bless them every day.

And though I know there's a hasty grave with a poor little cross
at its head,
And the gold of his youth he so gladly gave, yet to me he'll never
be dead.
And the sun in my Devon lane will be gay, and my boy will be with
me still,
So I'm finding the heart to smile and say: "Oh God, if it be
Thy Will!"

ROBERT W. SERVICE.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] COPYRIGHT BY BARSE AND HOPKINS.





Next: The Case Of Serbia

Previous: Edith Cavell



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