For every boy in uniform, Another soldier brave is fighting; A double rank the cannons storm, Two lines the cables are uniting, And with the hurt each soldier feels, At home the other warrior reels; Two suffer, freedom's cause to win: The soldier and "the next of kin." Oh, next of kin, be brave, be strong, As brave as was the boy that's missing; The years will many be and long That you will hunger for his kissing. Yet he enlisted you with him To share war's bitter price and grim; Your service runs through many years Because your name with his appears. See It Through There are many to cheer when the battle begins There are many to shout for the right; There are many to rail at the world and its sins But few have the grit for the fight. There are thousands to start with a rush for the fray When the fighting seems easy to do, But when danger is present and rough is the way, The few have to see the job through. It is easy to quit with a battle unwon, It is hard to press on to success; It is easy to stop with a purpose undone, It is hard to encounter distress. And many will march when the roadway is clear And the glorious goal is in view, But the many, too often, when dangers appear, Aren't willing to see the fight through. They weaken in spirit when trials grow great, They flinch at the clashing of steel; They talk of the strength of the foe at the gate And whine at the hurts that they feel. They begin to regret having ventured for right, They sigh that they dared to be true, They haven't the heart they once had for the fight, They don't want to see the job through. We have set out to battle for justice and truth, We have fearful disasters to meet; We shall weep for the best of our manliest youth, We shall suffer the pangs of defeat. But let us stand firm for the cause that we plead, Let the many be brave with the few; The cry of the quitter let none of us heed Till we've done what we started to do. Hope Mine is a song of hope For the days that lie before; For the grander things The morrow brings When the struggle days are o'er. Dark be the clouds to-day, Bitter the winds that blow, But falter nor fail, Through the howling gale-- Comes peace in the afterglow. Mine is the song of hope, A song for the mother here, Who lulls to rest The babe at breast, And hopes for a brighter year. Hope is the song she sings, Hope is the prayer she prays; As she rocks her boy, She dreams of the joy He'll bring in the future days.