So spurn ye not the polished stone For one of mossy coat, For some must roll the wilderness, And some must roll afloat; And some are making of the moss-- Your harvest p'raps was sown By he you brand for ever as A useless rolling stone. MY SENTINELS (The Song of the Wild) Rugged and dark are my paths to fame, Shadowed by men who have gone, Buried, but rising to point the way To he who shall seek the dawn; Haggard and grey, be ye not afraid, But greet with a fearless hand The shapes that await in the silence, My sentinels of the land. Hasten their rest, be ye undismayed, For weary and tired they be, And long have they waited your coming, For ever to set them free; From a vigil long in the stillness, To you, who are of the brand, They call, they are waiting your answer, These Sentinels in the land. Don't you hear their cry? It is pregnant With weariness; will you go? For theirs was the price of an Empire, And theirs was the seed to sow; And theirs were the dreams of a nation, Ah, will ye not understand That ye were begotten to follow My Sentinels in the land! Will ye take the hand that they offer? Or else will ye mock their pain? Will ye heed the wail from the silence? For, hark, 'tis the call again; In the land of ages and myst'ry, Your love they will e'er requite, And there shall ye find of my treasure, 'Midst Sentinels of the night. THE BONNETS It takes a lot to make a world, all classes and all kinds, But where the flag is flying now, a fellow always finds A figure that's familiar, and a work that's ever new, A little Army bonnet and a uniform of blue. We've toughed it in the Yukon, and we've surveyed o'er the plain, And been where easy comfort is a thing you'd seek in vain, But ever where the hardest was, we'd see the worker true, A little Army bonnet and a uniform of blue. 'Way up on old Bonanza, ere we surveyed out the line, Where hell was throned in glory, ruby lights and devil's wine, There stood a sacred cottage, and a home it was for two, Two little Army bonnets and the uniforms of blue. They didn't have a fancy church, with organ and a choir, And didn't always talk about the judgment and the fire, But, seeking out the worst that were, they started them anew To climb the ladder where they fell, those angels dressed in blue. It wasn't long before we saw a change was taking place, And brutish looks were vanishing from many a hardened face, And seeds were planted deep in hell, which up to heaven grew, By little Army bonnets in Salvation Army blue. We play the game and never tame, and never settle down, And on our many weaknesses our better brothers frown, Although we seldom read the Book, we know it must be true, For once we met its angels, _in a uniform of blue_. THE ANSWER