The Boston Globe from Boston, Massachusetts • 73

SUNDAY GLOBE MAGAZINE 17 EVERYBODYS COLUMN n-n REQUESTED SONGS AND POETRY True Patriotism Is Unselfish ry the Readers of $. Everybody'a Ool-al unin If there Is a VVtlj favorite bod? or poem which you would like and are unable to find write to the editor of Everybody Col unin. Wo are constantly receiving requests for od favorites and have found our readers always willing to laud to copies of the songs and poems guested. Do not hesitate to ask for say song or poem you would like to see printed. We shall be pleased to accora-siedate oil Editor.

REPLIES! Dally Globes containing tbe follow' in? songs and poems will be mailed to yon onarecelpt of cents In stamp, or money; Sunday Globes, for 19 cents in stamps or money. Botlr Dally and Sunday Globes of following' dates may be purchased at Globa Counting Boom. 5 Newburyport 1 Columbia, the Gem cf the Ocean, printed Tuesday, April 2V 1917. America printed Saturday, April 11. 1917.

Editor. SONGS AND POEMS WANTED Song containing the lines: Our lives are like a stormy sea. Swept by the waves of slo and grief. 2 While on the windward and the lea 3. Hang heavy clouds of unbelief.

Poem containing the lines: -3 The oak and the ash aud ihe bonny elm tret Theyre all growing old in the old countree.1 Teatlcket, Mass. J. P. J. I While yet on tbe heart of the people death's fj cloud rested heavy and black.

i And the couple Who wailed last evening, their mon-statured son to accost. Now laid t'icir beads down on tbe table, and mourned for the boy tiiat was lost. Twas nae sad, moaned the crushed, aged mother, each word dripping oer with a tear, "Sue fur he should come for to find us, and then be should perish sae near! ''Oh, Robin, my bairn! ye did wander far from us for mony a day, Aud when ya ba come back sae near us, why could na ye come a tbe 'I hae come all the said a strong voice, aud a bearded and sun-beaten face Smiled on them the first joyous pressure of one long anil filial embrace. I cam on last night far as Newport; but ifajgle, my bride that's to be. She ran through the storm to tbe station, to get tbe greeetin' me.

1 leaped from tbe carriage to kiss her; she held me sae last and sae tiebt. The train it run off and did lefive me; I could na' get over the nicht. "I tried f.d to walk the brig over my head it was a in a whirl I could na' ye know the sad reason I had to go back to my girlt I hoe ye'll tak kindly to Maggie she's promi-cd to soon be my wife. She's a darling wee bit of a lassie and her fondness it saved me my life! Sent in by P. H.

Lawrence. George William Curtis IGHT and wrong, justice and crime, exist independently of our country. A public is not a private right for any citizen. The citizen is a man bound to know and to do the right, and the Nation is but an aggregation of citizens. If a man should shout, My country, by whatever means extended and bounded; my country, right or wrong! he merely repeats the words of a thief who steals in the street, or the trader who swears falsely in the customhouse, both of them chuckling My fortune; however acquired.

Thus, gentlemen, we see that a mans country is not a certain area of land of mountains, rivers and woods but it is principle; and patriotism is loyalty to that principle. In poetic minds and in popular enthusiasm, this feeling becomes associated with the soil and symbols of the country. But the secret sanctification of the soil and the symbol-is the idea which they represent; and this Idea the patriot worships, through the name and the symbol, as a lover kisses with rapture the glove of his mistress and wears a lock of her hair upon his heart. with passionate heroism, of which tradition is never weary of tenderly telling, Arnold von Winkelried gathered into his bosom the sheaf of foreign spears, that his death might give life to his country. So Nathan no service that his country demands, perishes untimely, with no other friend than God and the satisfied sense of duty.

So George Washington, at once comprehending the scope of the destiny to which his country was devoted, with one hand puts aside the crown, and with the other sets his slaves free. So, through all history from the beginning, a noble army of martyrs has fought fiercely and fallen bravely for that unseen mistress, their country. So, through all history to the end, as long as men believe in God, that army must still march and fight and fall recruited from the flower of mankind, cheered only by their own hope of humanity, strong only in their confidence in their cause. I Requested by M. E.

Somerville: IN A HORSE CAR Celia Tbaiter. 1 wondered what power possessed tbe place As I took my seat in the motley crowd. And, glancing swiftly from face to face. Of tbe poor and mean, and the rich and proud. And all the stages betwixt tbe two That daily travel the iron track; Stopped at a young face fresh as dew.

Framed in white with a hood of black. Twas a little Sister of Charity; young and slender; sweet and calm; Like a pensive moonbeam pale was she, With her fair bands folded palm to palm. And a delicate beauty of bigh repose, A sacred peace, as if far withdrawn From the bard worlds din, like a cloistered rose. She blossomed pure as the breath of dawn. 1 marveled much how a girl like this.

In her Maytime splendor, could turn away From the brimming cup of her youths bright bliss. To succor the sorrowful day by day. Requested by E. A. Quincy, THIS LIFE IS WHAT we MAKE IT (Author Unknown.) Lets oftener talk of noble deeds.

And rarer of the bad ones. And sin about onr happy days. And not about the sad ones. We were not made to fret and sigh, And when grief sleeps to wake it. Blight happiness Is standing by This life Is wbat we make it.

Lets find the sunny side of men, Or be believers in it: A light there Is In every soul -That takes tbe pains to win it. theres a slumbering good in all. And we perebauee may wake It; Our hands contain the magic wand: -This life is what we make it. Then heres to those whose loving hearts Shed light and joy about them! Thanks be to them for countless gems We neer bad known without them. this should be a bappy world To all wbo may partake it; The faults our own If it Is not This life Is what we make it.

Requested by a reader. AVAL, I SWAN I run the old mill over here in Reubensrille, My names Joshua Ebenezer Frye; know a tbing or two, just bet your boots I do, Can't fool me cause Im too darned spry. Ive met your bunco men, always got the best of them; Once I met a couple on the Boston train. They says, How be you? I aays, Thatll jo Travel right aioug with your darned skinned game! Wal, I swan, I must be getting on; Git up, Napoleon, it looks like rain; Wal, Fit be switched, the bay ain't pitched Come in when you're over to the farm again, drove tbe old mare over to the county fair. Took first prize on a load of Summer squash; Requested by a Reader.

ihe death-bridge of the tay By WILL CARLETON. fbe light aud the Storm fell together upon the old town of Dundee; Aid, tremti'lne, the mighty Firth River held out its mid hand toward the sea. IJVe the dill-booming bolts of a ear. non, the swept the streets and the shores; It wrene'ied at the roofs and the chimneys, It cradled 'gainst the and doors. file a mob that is drunken and frenzied, tt surged through the streets up and down.

And er 'earned the sharp, shrill cry of Murder" o'er river, and hilltop, and town; It leaned Its great breast gaiust the belfries; it pen-bed upou mini, ret and dome; Ibn rprang the Sthivering Firth River, and tortured Its waves iuto. foam. Jnek! the town Las come out. vl.id in splendor, the turbulent S' ene fo beb.dd! ftui Ui at tLe nitfbt ik-vaMation slid lb btuTTn kio. In gold.

wir to tbe north, rucgwl mountains imb tUrongb tli sUoMrns air; Uizl tie ir tUrt Lrovs oVr the Talley, to read Ljt new ruiu ia there. the hbure Hi! eieopj the eity, In and hu. With fi to ker.ed, and dtor- to to abatied with crape To tbe prHaib, like a xjntkrv I weaving, there rurvs for a two-mil awr.r, TMa wotM'i uiaD-devitl wond'r the far brtdg of tLo 'Taj, It atrwlrfcrs aud gleams into distant; it creep the broed stream or and oer. Tilt rt its Mrong. locate fingers In tbfi palm of the opposite hore.

Bat lout? tUrobgh the mist. of the southwards there fiah to th ere, clar and plain-, Ul; a ottwr that's buni.il to destruction th6 lights A a train. Mil the Vgtet that so gaily are gleaming yon cif of Dundee within, I ooo that waiting a wanderer. who long o'er the cctan has Bis aged hordeaed pareuu are watching from the window that lxks ou be Firth, For the train tuat will come with tbelr darling their truest loved ttcanre on earth. Hell be cmbId the ni ht, sy the father, "for sure the band writ in's his ain; The letter Riys Ha the lamp li.

htM I'll co cue to the sven 'cvk train. For yars in the n.lncs Ive been toiling, to ibis o'i rlu' o'er the sea; vr Wrek has brought b.v kingly wages there's plenty fur you an for me. to Sit ye an wait for my coming tye will Ik watch for me In vain). An see mo glide o.r the river, along the roar o' the ttitin. So tby it at tie siuiiinuiuost window, the parents with baud daqxd in band.

And gale oVr the tempest-vest waters, acro-s to the storm-shaken laud. They see ihe bold aorotuit mooster creep Mt on the treacherous liue: If cinder-breath glitters like stardust its lamp eyes tb.y glimmer and shine. It it -elf gaiu-t the temicst; it ftgats for each iuch w.ta the foe; With torrents of air all arocn.l It with torrents of water below. Bit fcv hi look! the nnoster is stumbling, while tnu.bbS the fragile bridge wall; They st.t.ggio like athletes entwining then belli like a thunder butt fall! Bo, down through the dark the train plurges, with sa-od unac-nistouicd and It gl si with iis lit dying beauty-It gleams like a hvil-torm of fire! So wonder the mother fa'nts dead like, and elinvs bke a clod to the fl.s.r; X. wend-r the man files In frenzy and da-h-s his way through the door.

Be ir.ts hi- niy our tbroiub the tcuisest; Le is b.nii, baffled and tossed; Be crus. ''The train's gang off the Tay Brig Dnd he'p bore to ok for the Oh. btle to 1 do they listen, the crowds to the rtr.r that fiee; The o-ws. lit, the shtvk of an earthquake, bis in Sod through the town of Dundie. Ost, cut creep two brave, sturdy fellows, oer daug strewu buttress and piers; Th van cl mb 'gainst that blast, for they carry the Mood of obi Scot- nioim-vneers; Bat they kaie it along as tbey clamplK-r.

they mark all their band-path with red; III tby vs-in- Sere the torrent leaps brivl-e-lv." a g-ae dancing over ita dead. A a-ni-nt they gave down in biwror! tl en iP from the death laden liue, Bilk the news. "Theres Bae help for our loved ones, save God'a merey for them bv bare did!" aonmif hrcAe bright with tV sunshine, I the Firth threw Its fold glance hack. Requested by a reader. THE HEART OF THE WAR (16641 Peace In tbe clover-scented air, ft Aud stars within tbe dome; And underneath in dim repose, A plain New England home.

Within, a murmur of low tones. And. sighs front hearts oppressed. Merging in prayer, at last, that brings The balm of silent rest. i 1 I I 4 1 1 1 Ive closed a bard days work, Marty Tbe evening chores are done; And you are weary with tbe house.

And with tbe little one- hut he is sleeping 6wectly now. With all our little brood; So, come and sit upon my knee. And it will de me good, Marty, I must tell yon all Tbe trouble In my heart. And you must do the best yon can To take and bear yonr part. Touve seen the shadow on my face; Touve felt tt day and night; For it has filled our little borne.

And banished all its llgbt. I did not mean tt should be so; And yet I might have known That hearts which live as close as cm Can never keep tbeir own. But we are fallen on evil times. And, do wbateer I may. My heart grows sad about the war.

And sadder every day. 1 think about it when I work. And when 1 try to rest. And never more than when yonr bead Is pillowed on my breast; For then I see tbe camp-fires blaze. And sleeping men around, Wbo turn their faces toward tbelr homefii I And dream upon tbe ground.

Ji I thtnk about the dpar, brave boys, 1 My mates in other years, Who pine for borne aDd those they Till 1 am choked for tears. With shouts and tears tbey marched sway On glorys shining track; But, ah I how long, bow long they stay! How few of them come back! 1 1 One sleeps beside tbe Tennessee, 1 And one beside tbe James, 1 And one fought on a gallant abip, 1 And perished in its flames; 1 And some, struck down by fell disease, 1 Are breathing out tbeir life; i And, others, maimed by cmel wounds, 1 Have left the deadly strife. Ab! Marty, Marty! only think Of all the boys have done 1 And suffered lu this weary wart 1 Brave heroes every one! Oh! often, often, in the ntgbt, I hear their voices call: Come on aud help us. 13 It right 1 That we should bear it all? 1 And when 1 kneel and try to pray, My thoughts are never free, 7 But cling 'to those who toil and lights 1 And die for you and me. And when I pray for victory, It seems almost a sin To fold my bands and ask for wbat 1 will not help to win.

if Ob. do not cling to me and cry, For It will break my heart; 7 ll Iui sure you'd rather have me tt Than not to bear my part, 1 You think that some should stay at bomd, I To care for those away; But still Im helpless to decide if I should go or stay. I I I 1 I I 9 i i For, Marty, all tbe soldiers love. And all are loved again; And 1 am loved, and lova perhaps. No more than other men.

I cannot tell I do not know Which way my duty lies. Or where the Lord would have me build My fire of sacrifice. I feel I know I am not mean; And though I seem to boast, I'm sure that I would give my life To those wbo need it most. Perhaps the spirit will reveal That which is fair and right; So, Marty, let us humbly kneel. And pray to Heaven tor light.

1 Teace In the scented clover air. And stars within tbe dome; And underneath In dint repose, A plain New England borne; Within a widow in her weeds, From whom all joy has flown, 1 Wbo kneels among her sleeping babes, 9 And weeps- and- praya aloccj Ji Keqv-ested by T. L. K. Maynard.

HELL WIN AT LAST (Author unknown.) I wouldna gie a copper plack For ony man that turns his back. On duty clear; I wouldna take his word or note, I wouldna trust him for a groat. Nor lift an oar In ooy boat Which he might steer. When things are just as things should b. And fortune gies a man tbe plea.

Whereer be be; It isna bard to understand How be may walk through bouse and land Wl cheerful face and open band. Continually. -'ns But when 1 spite of wark and care, A man mnst loss and failure bear, He merits praise Wbo will not to misfortune bow, Wbo cooks bis bonne on his brow. And fights and fights he kens na how, Through long, bard days. I I wouldna gie an auld bawbee For ony man that I could see Wbat didna hold Tbe sweetness bis mlthers name, Tbe kindness bis brother's claim, Tbe honor a woman's fume.

For malr than gold. Nor Is It hard for him to do. What kens bis friends are leal and trne. Love sweet and strong. Whose heart knows not from year to year The shallow of a doubt or fear, Or feels the falling of a tear For ony wrong.

But gie him praise whose love Is pain, Wbo, wronged, forgives and loves again. And though he grieves Lets not the dear one from his care, But loves him malr and mair and mair. And bides bis time wi hope and prayer. And still believes. Ay, gio hi in prai-e who doesna fear The uphill fight from year to year.

And wha grip fast His ain dear ones, through good or lit, Wha, if they wander, loves them stillj Jl.vme day of joy hell get his fill; He'll win at last. Requested by N. A. Fall River. WHICH SHALL GO? A mother sat with her children three; The angel of death drew near: I voiue for one of the babes, quoth he "I will not choose but leave it to tliee To give me the one least dear.

The mother staited, with movement wild. And drew them all close to her heart; The angel reached forth and touched the chilJ Whose placid features whenever she smiled IS. tinted the mothers beauty mild, 'With this one, said be, 'Vanst thou part? "With this one, God! she Is our first bora As well take my life away; I never lived till that blessed morn When ib. as a bud, ou my breast was worn; Without her the world jvould be all forlorn Stare this one, kiud death, I pray!" The augi 1 drew backwards, then touched again. This time twas a noble boy; W'llt-ii sire to part with him less pain? Hold, tench him net, she cried, "refrain; Hes au only son-if we had but twain S'are is our pride and joy! Once more the angel stood wailing there; Thou be gently laid bis band till the 'hluli-g bead of a bche so fair.

That even death pitied and touched with care, While the mother prayed, "Mcre-ifol Heaven forehe.r; 'Tis the pet of our little band! Then which, said the ar.gcl, "for God calls I I 1 I I Stopped at the cider milt coming over by the LOUISIANA LOWLANDS hill Come home tighter than a drum, by gosh! (Author Unknown.) was so darned full I gave away the old bull, (Music may be bought at Oliver Ditson Corn-Dropped both the reins clean out on the fill; pony, Boston.) Got home so darned late couldn't find the barn Way down in Louisiana, not may years ago. And yet, when I looked at her once more, With her lofty asiieet of tempered cheer, All the joys of the earth seemed vain and poor To tbe lovely record written here. To the human face not there before, While every ill thing leaves its blight. It docs not follow that women and men Must live in a cloister to work for God; Theres enough to do, to tfie dullest ken. In the great world's paths spread wide abrotd.

And the good or ill of the lifejve lead Is sculptured clear on the countenance! Be it love and goodness, or sin and greed. Who runs may read at a single glance. Requested by a reader. There live da colored gembJem, his name was Pompey Snow, He played upon Ue banjo and on de tamborine. And for rattling of tbe hones he was the greatest eber seen In the Louisiana lowlands, lowlands low.

In the Louisiana lowlands, low. Chorus In the Louisiana lowlands, lowlands low Jn the Louisiana lowlands low. One night old Pompey started off to play for Caesar Clum, But before be went be fortified with a good stout glass of rum; When on the road be thought he saw a darkey, tall and grim. So Pompey -laid the baa(4own to break the darkey's shin: In tbe Louisiana lowlands, lowlands low-la the Louisiana lowlands, low. Says he, old chap, just move along, or else IO -spoil your face.

But dis darkey didn't teem to mote from oat bis hiding place. So drawing back be crooked bis bead, and dons at him cat-buck, Bat Pompey made a sad mistake, for twas nothing but a stump; Iu tbe Looi-iana lowlands, lowlands low In the Louisiana lowlands, low. The stump it proved a little bard, too hard for Pompeys woo). For when be struck, tbe hi koty knot went through tbe darkey skull; found bis banjo by bis side, and Pompey lying dead, je breaking of bis bead. And dey buried him in tbe lewlecd tl gate.

May says, Joshua, 'taint poss-l-bull! Wal, I swan, I must be getting on; Git up, Napoleon, it looks like rain; Wal, I'll be durned, the butter aint churned Come in when you're over to the farm agaiu. We had a big show here about a week ago. Pitched up a tent by the old mill dam; Ma says, "Let's go in to see the side show-just take a look at the tattooed man. see a euss look sharp at my pocketbook. Says, "Gimme two tens for a five? says.

"Xou darn fool, I be the constabule Now youre arresteij sure as youre alive! drove the old bay into town yesterday. Hitched her up to the railroad fence; Tied her good and strong, but a train came along I ain't seen tbe horse or the wagon since. Had to foot it home, so I started off alone, When a man says, Hurty, your barn's on fire! Well, I hud the key In my pocket, you see. So I knew the cuss was a fool or a liar. My son Joshua went to Philadelphia, He wouldn't do a days work if be eould; He didn't giic a darn about staying on the faim, Wbat be's a-coming to ain't no good mokes cigarettes, too.

way tbe city folks do; Keeps a-writing home he's doing right well; Seeuis kind of funny, but he's always out of money Ma says tbe boy's up to tome kind of bell. Sent by L. D. Boston, one; The mother bowed down her bead: 1 Aires troubled fount was in tears o'errun A murmur a struggle and graee bad woo, "Not my will, she said, "but thine be done! The pet lamb of the fold lay dead. Pent In ty a Reader..