Patriotic pieces from the Great War/To the Glory of the Needle
TO THE GLORY OF THE NEEDLE
By permission of Needlecraft, Augusta, Maine
Never before have they plied so well—
Never so sturdily;
Love in the wool, and there's love in the stitch,
And the heart of the woman is doubly rich
Who's knitting for you and me.
The way of the war is a right hard way,
And troubled and grim and blind;
But what of the mothers at home to-day,
And the love that we left behind?
Click! click! click!—so do the needles sing,
Click! click! click!—souls of us seem a-wing.
And the gray wool falls into magic place,
And we fancy we see such a fair, sweet face
That battle is blessed with a holy grace—
And so do the needles sing!
Never before was their task so dear—
Never so bitter-sweet!
We of the trench and the blood-red land
Look to the thrift of that swift, sure hand
In victory—or defeat!
Our thoughts stray back to a sunlit room
Where the casement is wide and bright;
And the fairy work of a finger-loom
That spins from the dawn till night.
Click! click! click!—so do the needles croon,
Click! click! click!—with a sort of wistful tune;
And the snow sweeps down from a leaden sky,
And the chill wind whines as it passes by,
It's a desolate place for a man to die—
Ah, the needles are none too soon!
Never before was their weave so swift—
Never so firm and true;
Love in the parcel that's handed to me,
Bridging the width of a storm-tossed sea,
And stamped with the seal of YOU!
The gray wool fashions a precious thing,
That covers a fast-timed heart;
And precious the song that the needles sing
As they hasten to do their part.
Click! click! click!—so comes the clear refrain,
Click! click! click!—over and over again;
And it's mother, and sister and maiden fair,
Who knit for the fellow who's "over there,"
The home-hands, doing their little share
For the living—and for the slain!