She was with us at the depot, and we turned our backs a-while, And her eyes were sad and misty, though she tried her best to smile. Then she put her arm round mother, and it seemed to me as though They just grew to love each other, for they shared a common woe. Now she often comes to see us, and it seems to me we find A heap of solid comfort in the girl he left behind. "She's so sensible and gentle," mother said last night to me, "The kind of girl I've often wished and prayed his wife would be. And I like to have her near us, for she understands my sighs And I see my brave boy smiling when I look into her eyes." Now the presence of his sweetheart seems to fill our home with joy. She's no longer young and flighty--she's the girl who loves our boy. A Patriotic Creed To serve my country day by day At any humble post I may; To honor and respect her Flag, To live the traits of which I brag; To be American in deed As well as in my printed creed. To stand for truth and honest toil, To till my little patch of soil And keep in mind the debt I owe To them who died that I might know My country, prosperous and free, And passed this heritage to me. I must always in trouble's hour Be guided by the men in power; For God and country I must live, My best for God and country give; No act of mine that men may scan Must shame the name American. To do my best and play my part, American in mind and heart; To serve the flag and bravely stand To guard the glory of my land; To be American in deed, God grant me strength to keep this creed. His Room His room is as it used to be Before he went away, The walls still keep the pennants he Brought home but yesterday. The picture of his baseball team Still holds its favored spot, And oh, it seems a dreadful dream This age of shell and shot! His golf clubs in the corner stand; His tennis racket, too, That once the pressure of his hand In times of laughter knew Is in the place it long has kept For us to look upon. The room is as it was, except The boy, himself, has gone. The pictures of his girls are here, Still smiling as of yore, And everything that he held dear Is treasured as before. Into his room his mother goes As usual, day by day, And cares for it, although she knows Our boy is far away. We keep it as he left it, when He bade us all good-bye, Though I confess that, now and then, We view it with a sigh. For never night shall thrill with joy Nor day be free from gloom Until once more our soldier boy Shall occupy his room. Envy