Do you want the best for your own to know? So does the other fellow. Do you stoop to kiss them before you go? So does the other fellow. When your baby lies on a fevered bed, Does your heart run cold with a silent dread? Well, it's that way, too, where all mortals tread-- That way with the other fellow. Does it hurt when they want what you cannot buy? It does with the other fellow. Do you for their comfort yourself deny? So does the other fellow. Would you wail aloud if your babe should die For the lack of care you could not supply? Well, it's that way, too, as he travels by, That way with the other fellow. {58} OUR DUTY TO OUR FLAG Less hate and greed Is what we need And more of service true; More men to love The flag above And keep it first in view. Less boast and brag About the flag, More faith in what it means; More heads erect, More self-respect, Less talk of war machines. The time to fight To keep it bright Is not along the way, Nor 'cross the foam, But here at home Within ourselves--to-day. 'Tis we must love That flag above With all our might and main; For from our hands, Not distant lands, Shall come dishonor's stain. If that flag be Dishonored, we Have done it, not the foe; If it shall fall We first of all Shall be to strike a blow. {59} THE HUNTER Cheek that is tanned to the wind of the north. Body that jests at the bite of the cold, Limbs that are eager and strong to go forth Into the wilds and the ways of the bold; Red blood that pulses and throbs in the veins, Ears that love silences better than noise; Strength of the forest and health of the plains; These the rewards that the hunter enjoys. Forests were ever the cradles of men; Manhood is born of a kinship with trees. Whence shall come brave hearts and stout muscles, when Woods have made way for our cities of ease? Oh, do you wonder that stalwarts return Yearly to hark to the whispering oaks? 'Tis for the brave days of old that they yearn: These are the splendors the hunter invokes. {60} IT'S SEPTEMBER It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold, And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold; Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed; Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet, And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.