Yes, lay him gently there upon the grass,
The soldier who but lately stood so bold
And died, to hold the foe beyond the pass.
His heart, so fraught with fire, is growing cold–
God give this nation hearts from this same mold!
More like him, who, not one to seek for strife,
Did, when he saw his duty, arms unfold,
And flinch not from the Master Pruner’s knife,
This boy who gave the all he had to give, his life.
God give this country hearts that here at home
Can work and sacrifice without complaint;
God give us men who from their native loam
Can give us food without a selfish taint;
Men who can pass our laws without a feint,
And men into whose jobs their souls can pour!
Of us, but very few will-e’er be saint,
But heroes can we create by the score–
If we’ll but give, and try, and fight a little more!
•
(Experiment with Spencerian
Stanza… fin. 10-15-42)
by Ray Romine Thursday, October 15, 1942
