A bell rang out that summer day And men and women stood and heard; That tongue of brass had more to say Than could be spoken by a word. It spoke the thoughts of honest men, It whispered Destiny's intents And rang a warning loudly then To Kings of all the continents. The old bell in its holy loft Where pigeons nest, has ceased to swing And yet through many a day and oft A weary people hear it sing. That hour long years ago, when first America for freedom fought, The bonds of slavery were burst: That hour began the reign of thought. Here comes another summer day: America is on the sea, America has dared to say That other people shall be free. No selfish stain her banner mars, Her flag, for truth and right, unfurled, With every stripe and all its stars Still speaks its message to the world Out where the soldiers fight for men, Out where, for others, heroes die, Out where they storm the Tyrant's den, The Starry Banner lights the sky. And once again the cry goes out That brings the flush of hope to cheeks Grown pale by bitter war and doubt: "America for Freedom speaks." Spring in the Trenches It's coming time for planting in that little patch of ground, Where the lad and I made merry as he followed me around; The sun is getting higher, and the skies above are blue, And I'm hungry for the garden, and I wish the war were through. But it's tramp, tramp, tramp, And it's never look behind, And when you see a stranger's kids, Pretend that you are blind. The spring is coming back again, the birds begin to mate; The skies are full of kindness, but the world is full of hate. And it's I that should be bending now in peace above the soil, With laughing eyes and little hands about to bless the toil. But it's fight, fight, fight, And it's charge at double-quick; A soldier thinking thoughts of home Is one more soldier sick. Last year I brought the bulbs to bloom and saw the roses bud; This year I'm ankle deep in mire, and most of it is blood. Last year the mother in the door was glad as she could be; To-day her heart is full of pain, and mine is hurting me. But it's shoot, shoot, shoot, And when the bullets hiss, Don't let the tears fill up your eyes, For weeping soldiers miss. Oh, who will tend the roses now and who will sow the seeds? And who will do the heavy work the little garden needs? And who will tell the lad of mine the things he wants to know, And take his hand and lead him round the paths we used to go? For it's charge, charge, charge, And it's face the foe once more; Forget the things you love the most And keep your mind on war.