THE ROSE OF A NATION'S THANKS
A WELCOME? Oh, yes, 'tis a kindly word, but why will they plan and prate
Of feasting and speeches and such small things, while the wives and mothers wait?
Plan as ye will, and do as ye will, but think of the hunger and thirst
In the hearts that wait; and do as ye will, but lend us our laddies first.
Why, what would ye have? There is not a lad that treads in the gallant ranks
Who does not already bear on his breast the Rose of a Nation's Thanks!
A welcome? Why, what do you mean by that, when the very stones must sing
As our men march over them home again; the walls of the city ring
With the thunder of throats and the tramp and tread of feet that rush and run?—
I think in my heart that the very trees must shout for the bold work done!
Why, what would ye have? There is not a lad that treads in the gallant ranks
Who does not already bear on his breast the Rose of a Nation's Thanks!
A Welcome? There is not a babe at the breast won't spring at the roll of the drum
That heralds them home—the keen, long cry in the air of 'They Come! They Come!'
And what of it all if ye bade them wade knee-deep in a wave of wine,
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