THE VANISHING ARMY

BY ARTHUR LEWIS TUBBS

G. A. R.

From the wave-washed strand of the Golden Land
To the shores of the Eastern sea;

From the mountains that fringe the frozen North
To the Southland's flowery lea,

Comes the tramp of feet to the drummer's beat,
And the fife with its martial lay,

For the soldier boys are marching again,

To keep Memorial Day.

They were heroes all when the trumpet's call

Was heard in the days gone by;

For their hearts were brave and their hearts were true, When they heard their country's cry.

But now, as they come to the fife and drum,

'Tis a loving tribute to pay,

And a path of flowers for these heroes of ours
Is spread on Memorial Day.

For the Stripes and Stars and the gleaming bars
To a nation of peace belong,

And a friendly cheer is all they hear,

Or the children's voices in

song.

The weapons are rusted and silent now

That once they used in the fray;
They have only to bear the flowers fair,
As they march on Memorial Day.

The ranks grow thinner, the marchers few,
And to-day the grasses grow

On many a mound that was not found
But one short year ago.

Whether they sleep the dreamless sleep,
Or a little longer stay,

We'll never forget the boundless debt

The nation can never pay.

Let Northern blossoms and Southern blooms
Their tendrils intertwine:

A token of peace that years increase
And love hath made divine.

And whether the heroes wore the blue,
Or whether they wore the gray,
We own them ours and scatter the flowers
For all, on Memorial Day.

WHEN BABY LAUGHS

BY A. J. WATERHOUSE

I wonder what she's dreaming 'bout,
'Long some time in the night,
When of a sudden she laughs out
In infantile delight.

I guess some angel from above,

Swift winging to and fro,

Doth pause to whisper to my love
Such words as babies know.

And when she laughs I guess he flies

Straight where God's hosts rejoice, And bears beyond the bending skies The music of her voice.

Then, through the mighty anthem's swell Her laughter striketh clear,

Sweeter than tone of any bell,

And angels pause to hear.

For what hath Heaven compared with this;
The laughter of a child,
Who still the note of pain doth miss,
By dreams of night beguiled?

There beat so many voices here
Of anguish and despair,
What wonder if they hold it dear,
The laugh that hides no care?

So when my baby's laugh rings out,
I watch her fleeting smile,
And say, "Some angel is about,"
And listen for a while

To try to catch the whisper, too,
In vain, in vain I try;
For angels heed what babies do,
But pass their elders by.

THE HOLY CITY

BY F. E. WEATHERLY

Last night I lay a sleeping,
There came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem

Beside the temple there.

I heard the children singing,

And ever as they sang,
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heav'n in answer rang;
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heav'n in answer rang.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Lift up your gates and sing,
Hosanna in the highest!

Hosanna to your King!

And then methought my dream was chang'd,
The streets no longer rang,

Hush'd were the glad Hosannas

The little children sang.

The sun grew dark with mystery,

The morn was cold and chill

As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill. As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill. Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Hark! how the Angels sing,

Hosanna in the highest,

Hosanna to your King.

And once again the scene was chang'd,

New earth there seem'd to be,

I saw the Holy City

Beside the tideless sea;

The light of God was on its streets,

The gates were open wide,

And all who would might enter,

And no one was denied.

No need of moon or stars by night,
Or sun to shine by day,

It was the new Jerusalem
That would not pass away,
It was the new Jerusalem
That would not pass away.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Sing for the night is o'er!
Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna for evermore!
Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna for evermore!

THE QUESTIONER

BY CARL WERNER

I called the boy to my knee one day,
And I said: "You're just past four;
Will you laugh in that same light-hearted way
When you're turned, say, thirty more?"
Then I thought of a past I'd fain erase

More clouded skies than blue

And I anxiously peered in his upturned face

For it seemed to say:

"Did you?"

I touched my lips to his tiny own

And I said to the boy: "Heigh, ho! Those lips are as sweet as the hay, new-mown;

Will you keep them always so?"

Then back from those years came a rakish song –