You may see them not, but they'll all be there; when they speak you may fail to hear; You may think that you're making your pacts alone, but their spirits will hover near; And whatever the terms of the peace you make with the tyrant whose hands are red, You must please not only the living here, but must satisfy your dead. Mrs. Malone and the Censor When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat She started to read it aloud in her flat. "Dear Mary," it started, "I can't tell you much, I'm somewhere in France, and I'm fightin' the Dutch; I'm chokin' wid news thot I'd like to relate, But it's little a soldier's permitted t' state. Do ye mind Red McPhee--well, he fell in a ditch An' busted an arrm, but I can't tell ye which. "An' Paddy O'Hara was caught in a flame An' rescued by--Faith, I can't tell ye his name. Last night I woke up wid a terrible pain; I thought for awhile it would drive me insane. Oh, the suff'rin, I had was most dreadful t' bear! I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't tell ye where. The doctor he gave me a pill, but I find It's conthrary to rules t' disclose here the kind. "I've been t' the dintist an' had a tooth out. I'm sorry t' leave you so shrouded in doubt But the best I can say is that one tooth is gone, The censor won't let me inform ye which one. I met a young fellow who knows ye right well, An' ye know him, too, but his name I can't tell. He's Irish, red-headed, an' there with th' blarney, His folks once knew your folks back home in Killarney." "By gorry," said Mrs. Malone in her flat, "It's hard t' make sinse out av writin' like that, But I'll give him as good as he sends, that I will." So she went right to work with her ink well an' quill, An' she wrote, "I suppose ye're dead eager fer news-- You know when ye left we were buyin' the shoes; Well, the baby has come, an' we're both doin' well; It's a ----. Oh, but that's somethin' they won't let me tell." The Unknown Friends We cannot count our friends, nor say How many praise us day by day. Each one of us has friends that he Has yet to meet and really know, Who guard him, wheresoe'er they be, From harm and slander's cruel blow. They help to light our path with cheer, Although they pass as strangers here. These friends, unseen, unheard, unknown, Our lasting gratitude should own. They serve us in a thousand ways Where we perhaps should friendless be; They tell our worth and speak our praise And for their service ask no fee; They choose to be our friends, although We have not learned to call them so. We cannot guess how large the debt We owe to friends we have not met. We only know, from day to day, That we discover here and there How one has tried to smooth our way, And ease our heavy load of care, Then passed along and left behind His friendly gift for us to find. First Name Friends