A Father's Advice

Levin Daily Chronicle, 8 June 1918, Page 4

A Father's Advice

TO' HIS RECRUIT SON. An anonymous poem sent to the • 'Chicago Post' by an American whose , boy was leaving the city with ' his ! regiment. > * My son, at last the fateful day has come For us to part. The hours have nearly run. i May God return you safe to land and home; 1 Yet, what God wills, so may Hi's will ; be-done. , '| Draw tight the belt about your slender ! frame; | 1 Flash blue your eyes! Hold high your , proud young head! ! To-day you march in Liberty's fair name, To", save the line enriched by France's dcadl ! | I would not it were otherwise! And yot 'Tis hard to speed you marching forth, . my soul , 'Tis doubly hard to live -without regret ' For love unsaid, and kindnesses undone. But would the chance were mine with. ■ you to stand Upon«-those shores and see our flag unfurled! To' fight on France's brave, unconquer- ' ed land v ;! With Liberty's grea,t sword for all the world! J; Beyond the waves, my son, the siren ' calls The sky is' black and Fastnet lies i abreast, ■. A signal rocket tlings its pale stars and falls | Afeross the night to wclcome England's ' 'guest... When midst the scud you see the Cornish lights, And through the midst you hear faint Devon chimes, Thank God for the memories of those , other nights , And days on other ships in happier times. Perhaps you'll stand within the pillared nave \ And aisles where colored sundust falls, and see Old Canterbury Church where Becket i gave , • His life's best blood for England's liberty! T Some night you '11 wake, perhaps ' on Salisbury Plain; Above Stonchenge /the Druids' stars still sleep. And on the turf within the circled faiio Beneath the autumn moon still lies the sheep. And if you march besides some Kentish hedge, *i And blackberries hang thick clustered' o'er the ways, j Pluck down a branch! Kest by ' the road's brown edge;, j Eat! Nor forget our last vacation days! And then the trench in battle-scarred i Lorraine; . j The town half-burned, but held in spite ] of liell; J The bridge twice taken, lost, and won ; again; ' . ' _ j The eratcrcd glacis 'ripped with mine and shell. ' The leafless trees, bare-branched in | spite of June; The sodden road, the desolated pla'in: Thq matclcss birds, the season out of tunc s Fair France, at bay, is calling through her paiu. Oh, son! My -sou! God keep you safe and free— Our flag and you! But if the! hour j must come . To choose at last 'twixt self 1 and liberty— 1 ' We'll' close our eyes! So lot God's I will be done! !