If death must be the cost of life, And freedom's terms are human souls, Into the thickest of the strife Then let me go to pay the tolls. I would enrich my native land, New splendor to her flag I'd give, If where I fall shall freedom stand, And where I die shall freedom live. To-morrow death with me may trade; Let me not quibble o'er the price; But may I, once the bargain's made, With courage meet the sacrifice. If happiness for ages long My little term of life can buy, God, for my country make me strong; To-morrow let me bravely die. The Flag on the Farm We've raised a flagpole on the farm And flung Old Glory to the sky, And it's another touch of charm That seems to cheer the passer-by, But more than that, no matter where We're laboring in wood and field, We turn and see it in the air, Our promise of a greater yield. It whispers to us all day long From dawn to dusk: "Be true, be strong; Who falters now with plough or hoe Gives comfort to his country's foe." It seems to me I've never tried To do so much about the place, Nor been so slow to come inside, But since I've got the Flag to face, Each night when I come home to rest I feel that I must look up there And say: "Old Flag, I've done my best, To-day I've tried to do my share." And sometimes, just to catch the breeze, I stop my work, and o'er the trees Old Glory fairly shouts my way: "You're shirking far too much to-day!" The help have caught the spirit, too; The hired man takes off his cap Before the old red, white and blue, Then to the horses says: "Giddap!" And starting bravely to the field He tells the milkmaid by the door: "We're going to make these acres yield More than they've ever done before." She smiles to hear his gallant brag, Then drops a curtsey to the Flag, And in her eyes there seems to shine A patriotism that is fine. 'We've raised a flagpole on the farm And flung Old Glory to the sky, We're far removed from war's alarm, But courage here is running high. We're doing things we never dreamed We'd ever find the time to do; Deeds that impossible once seemed Each morning now we hurry through. The Flag now waves above our toil And sheds its glory on the soil, And boy and man look up to it As if to say: "I'll do my bit!" The Mother on the Sidewalk The mother on the sidewalk as the troops are marching by Is the mother of Old Glory that is waving in the sky. Men have fought to keep it splendid, men have died to keep it bright, But that flag was born of woman and her sufferings day and night; 'Tis her sacrifice has made it, and once more we ought to pray For the brave and loyal mother of the boy that goes away.