How vividly I can recall Him at the window, making faces; I used to think that in him all The impish traits had lurking places. He stole the green fruit from my trees, Not caring how it might affect him; Today he’s fighting overseas, And may the God of hosts protect him! From childhood into youth he passed, And then my little garden flourished; And still his friendship was not classed Among the treasures which I nourished. He tortured first a slide trombone, And next he tried a squeaky fiddle; His voice took on a raucous tone That used to rasp me down the middle. How soldierly our lad appeared When with his comrades he departed! I wonder if he knew I cheered, Or guessed that I was heavy-hearted. If I have damned him heretofore I now retract each foul aspersion; God bless the boy who lived next door, And used to be my pet aversion! THE FLAG EDWARD A. HORTON IN POPULAR EDUCATOR Why do I love our flag? Ask why Flowers love the sunshine. Or, ask why The needle turns with eager eye Toward the great stars in northern sky. I love Old Glory, for it waved Where loyal hearts the Union saved. I love it, since it shelters me And all most dear, from sea to sea. I love it, for it bravely flies In freedom’s cause, ’neath foreign skies. I love it for its blessed cheer, Its starry hopes and scorn of fear; For good achieved and good to be To us and to humanity. It is the people’s banner bright, Forever guiding toward the light; Foe of the tyrant, friend of right, God give it leadership and might! THE WAR HORSE LIEUT. L. FLEMING, B. E. F., FRANCE Shortly after the verses here following were received from France by the American Red Star Animal Relief, Lieutenant Fleming fell in action. His voice, coming to us as from a plane of life where dumb creatures do not suffer, is a call to civilization to do its duty by the animals whose kind were silent heroes of the war. When the shells are bursting round, Making craters in the ground, And the rifle fire’s something awful cruel, When you ’ear them in the night (My Gawd! it makes you fight!) An’ yer thinks of them poor souls agoing ’ome, When you ’ear the Sergeant shout “Get y’r respirators out,” Then you looks and sees a cloud of something white. The gas is coming on An’ yer knows before it’s gone That the ’orse wots with you now won’t be by then; Yer loves him like yer wife An’ yer wants to save ’is life, But there ain’t no respirators, not for them. I was standing by ’is side On the night my old ’orse died, An’ I shan’t forget ’is looks towards the last. ’E was choking mighty bad, An’ ’is eyes was looking mad, An’ I seed that--’e--was dying--dying fast.