Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 130, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 June 1910 — WHEN MOTHER SINGS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WHEN MOTHER SINGS.

By the window mother’s sitting, gazing on the sunset skies, The lace she has been knitting, in her lap unheeded lies. While to herself she’s singing, in the sweet old voice and low, .Songs that through the land were ringing in her girlhood long ago. And I seem to hear the fifths shrill call, the long roll of the drum. The tramp of hurrying thousands, as with eager step they come, And I see the starry banners waving proudly to and fro, As mother sings the chorus sung by thousands long ago: Rally round the (lag, boys, rally once again, Shouting the battle cry of freedom. We will gather from the hillside, the valley and the plain, Shouting the battle cry of freedom. While the northern hosts were gathering, all the southland was aflame, These men laughed at war as though it were some merry game; There gallant hearts were leaping, too, beneath the coats of gray And mothers smiled through weeping as their brave lads marched away. How little dreamed they of long years of conflict, grief and pain Ere peace should bid their weary feet turn slowly home again ; No bitterness now lingers in her thoughts of them to-day, So mother sings th’ inspiring song of the southern boys in gray.

took away, look away, look away, Dixie land,. Then I wish I was In Dixie, In Dixie land I'll take my stand To live and die In Dixie. Again I hear her singing, not the gay old rallying song, m A strain of solemn majesty now bears my thoughts along As the hearts of men were lifted to the King of Glory’s throne, Wrong is strong, but God is stronger, and he watches o’er his own. Though too well'our land remembers how her heroes’ vows were sealed In many a gloomy prison, on many a hard-won field, By long and weary marches, in the camps of sickness, grim, Yet they failed not in their purpose, and they sang the battle hymn :

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming' of the Lord, He Is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, He hath loosed the dreadful lightning of his terrible, swift sword. His truth Is marching on. While weeks and months grew into years, war swept throughout the land, And took his toil of blood and tears, with iron-fingered hand. The flame-lit clouds of battle spread their somber pall of gloom Until the awful shadow shut the sun ; from every home. Oh, the weary hours of watching! Oh, the steps that came no more! Oh, the hearts that broke with waiting

for the loved on yonder shore! Fain would we shun the memory that to that conflict clings, But mother’s thoughts are in the past, and brokenly she sings: Many are the hearts that are weary tonight. Waiting for the war to cease, Many are the hearts that are looking to the right, Looking to the dawn of peace. So when you bring your garlands for the nation’s dead to-day Strew alike the fragrant blossoms o’er the graves of Blue and Gray, Never foes more brave were vanquished by brave conquerors before. They were brothers e’er the conflict, they are brothers now once more; The dawn of peace has brightened till it glows in perfect day, The bands of love have tightened till the nation owns her sway From sea to sea across the land, the flags of freedom fling From north and south, united, let the song of triumph ring : My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty ; Of thee I sing; Land where my father died, land of the pilgrims’ pride. From every mountain side Let freedom ring. •—•Mabel Holmes Kftplin, in St. Louie Globe-Democrat.