Mine is the song of hope, A song for the father, too, Whose right arm swings, While his anvil sings A song of the journey through. Hope is the star that guides, Hope is the father's sun; Far ahead he sees, Through the waving trees, Sweet peace when his work is done. Mine is the song of hope, Of hope that sustains us all; Be we young or old, Be we weak or bold, Do we falter or even fall, Brightly the star of hope From the distance is shining still; And with courage new We rise to do, For hope is the God of Will. The Gold Givers Oh, some shall stand in glory's light when all the strife is done, And many a mother there shall say, "For truth I gave my son!" But I shall stand in silence then and hear the stories brave, For I must answer at the last that gold is all I gave. When all this age shall pass away, and silenced are the guns, When sweethearts join their loves again, and mothers kiss their sons, When brave unto the brave return, and all they did is told, How pitiful my gift shall seem, when all I gave is gold. When we are asked what did you then, when all the world was red, And some shall say, "I fell in France," and some, "I mourned my dead;" With all the brave assembled there in glory long to live, How trivial our lives shall seem who had but gold to give. The Undaunted He tried to travel No Man's Land, that's guarded well with guns, He tried to race the road of death, where never a coward runs. Now he's asking of his doctor, and he's panting hard for breath, How soon he will be ready for another bout with death. You'd think if you had wakened in a shell hole's slime and mud That was partly dirty water, but was mostly human blood, And you had to lie and suffer till the bullets ceased to hum And the night time dropped its cover, so the stretcher boys could come-- You'd think if you had suffered from a fever and its thirst, And could hear the "rapids" spitting and the high explosives burst, And had lived to tell that story--you could face our fellow men In the little peaceful village, though you never fought again. You'd think that once you'd fallen in the shrapnel's deadly rain, Once you'd shed your blood for honor, you had borne your share of pain; Once you'd traveled No Man's country, you'd be satisfied to quit And be invalided homeward, and could say you'd done your bit. But he's lying, patched and bandaged, very white and very weak, And he's trying to be cheerful, though it's agony to speak; He is pleading with the doctor, though he's panting hard for breath, To return him to the trenches for another bout with death. The Discovery of a Soul