MY SON
God gave my son in trust to me;
Christ died for him, and he should be
A man for Christ. He is his own,
And God's and man's; not mine alone.
He was not mine to "give." He gave
Himself that he might help to save
All that a Christian should revere,
All that enlightened men hold dear.
"To feed the guns!" O torpid soul!
Awake, and see life as a whole.
When freedom, honor, justice, right,
Were threatened by the despot's might,
With heart aflame and soul alight,
He bravely went for God to fight
Against base savages, whose pride
The laws of God and man defiled;
Who slew the mother and her child,
Who maidens pure and sweet defiled.
He did not go "to feed the guns,"
He went to save from ruthless Huns
His home and country, and to be
A guardian of democracy.
"What if he does not come?" you say;
Ah, well! My sky would be more gray,
But through the clouds the sun would shine,
