TO A DOUGHBOY

I watched you slog down a dusty pike,

One of many so much alike,

With a spirit keen as a breath of flame,

Ready to rise and ready to strike

Whenever the fitting moment came;

Just a kid with a boyish grin,

Waiting the order to hustle in

And lend your soul to the battle thrill,

Unafraid of the battle din

Or the guns that crashed from a hidden hill.

I watched you leap to the big advance,

With a smile for Fate and its fighting chance,

Sweeping on till the charge was done;

I saw your grave on a slope of France

Where you fell asleep when the fight was won.

Just a kid who had earned his rest

With a rifle and helmet above his breast,

Who proved, in answer to German jeers,

That a kid can charge a machine gun nest

Without the training of forty years.

134I watched the shadows drifting by

As gray dusk came from a summer’s sky,

And lost winds came from beyond the fight,

And I seemed to hear them croon and sigh:

“Sleep, little dreamer, sleep tonight;

Sleep tonight, for I’m bringing you

A prayer and a dream from the home you knew;

And I’ll take them word of the big advance,

And how you fought till the game was through,

And you fell asleep in the dust of France.”

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