It is better by far that we die Than that flag shall pass out of the world; If ever it ceases to fly, If ever it's hauled down and furled, Dishonor shall stamp us with shame And freedom be naught but a name, And the few years of dearly-bought breath Will be filled with worse horrors than death. To a Lady Knitting Little woman, hourly sitting, Something for a soldier knitting, What in fancy can you see? Many pictures come to me Through the stitch that now you're making: I behold a bullet breaking; I can see some soldier lying In that garment slowly dying, And that very bit of thread In your fingers, turns to red. Gray to-day; perhaps to-morrow Crimsoned by the blood of sorrow. It may be some hero daring Shall that very thing be wearing When he ventures forth to give Life that other men may live. He may braver wield the saber As a tribute to your labor, And for that, which you have knitted, Better for his task be fitted. When the thread has left your finger, Something of yourself may linger, Something of your lovely beauty May sustain him in his duty. Some one's boy that was a baby Soon shall wear it, and it may be He will write and tell his mother Of the kindness of another, And her spirit shall caress you, And her prayers at night shall bless you. You may never know its story, Cannot know the grief or glory That are destined now and hover Over him your wool shall cover, Nor what spirit shall invade it Once your gentle hands have made it. Little woman, hourly sitting, Something for a soldier knitting, 'Tis no common garb you're making, These, no common pains you're taking. Something lovely, holy, lingers O'er the needles in your fingers And with every stitch you're weaving Something of yourself you're leaving. From your gentle hands and tender There may come a nation's splendor, And from this, your simple duty, Life may win a fairer beauty. A Good Soldier He writes to us most every day, and how his letters thrill us! I can't describe the joys with which his quaint expressions fill us. He says the military life is not of his selection, He's only soldiering to-day to give the Flag protection. But since he's in the army now and doing duties humble, He'll do what all good soldiers must, and he will never grumble. He's not so keen for standing guard, a lonely vigil keeping, "But when I must," he writes to us, "they'll never find me sleeping! I hear a lot of boys complain about the tasks they set us And there's no doubt that mother's meals can beat the ones they get us, But since I'm here to do my bit, close to the job I'm sticking; I'll take whatever comes my way and waste no word in kicking.