When autumn brought the harvest time, Its branches all who wished might climb, And take from many a tender shoot Its rosy-cheeked, delicious fruit.

Good men, by careless speech or deed, Have caused a neighbor's heart to bleed; Wrong has been done by high intent; Hate has been born where love was meant, Yet apple trees of field or farm Have never done one mortal harm.

Then came the Germans into France And found this apple tree by chance.

They shared its blossoms in the spring; They heard the songs the thrushes sing; They rested in the cooling shade Its old and friendly branches made, And in the fall its fruit they ate.

And then they turn on it in hate, Like beasts, on blood and pa.s.sion drunk, They hewed great gashes in its trunk.

Beneath its roots, with h.e.l.l's delight, They placed destruction's dynamite And blew to death, with impish glee, An old and friendly apple tree.

Men may rebuild their homes in time; Swiftly cathedral towers may climb, And hearts forget their weight of woe, As over them life's currents flow, But this their lasting shame shall be: They put to death an apple tree!

Along the Paths o' Glory

Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day, There are youthful hearts and st.u.r.dy that have found the westward way.

From the rugged roads o' duty they have turned without a sigh, To mingle with their brothers who were not afraid to die.

And they're looking back and smiling at the loved ones left behind, With the Old Flag flying o'er them, and they're calling "Never mind.

"Never mind, oh, gentle mothers, that we shall not come again; Never mind the years of absence, never mind the days of pain, For we've found the paths o' glory where the flags o' freedom fly, And we've learned the things we died for are the truths that never die.

Now there's never hurt can harm us, and the years will never fade The memory of the soldiers of the legions unafraid."

Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day, And the heavenly flags are flying as they march along the way; For the world is safe from hatred; men shall know it at its best By the sacrifice and courage of the boys who go to rest.

Now they've claimed eternal splendor and they've won eternal youth, And they've joined the gallant legions of the men who served the truth.

Cliffs of Scotland

Sixteen Americans who died on the Tuscania are buried at the water's edge at the base of the rocky cliffs at a Scottish port.--(News Dispatch.)

Cliffs of Scotland, guard them well, Shield them from the blizzard's rage; Let your granite towers tell That those sleeping heroes fell In the service of their age.

Cliffs of Scotland, they were ours!

Now forever they are thine!

Guard them with your mighty powers!

Barren are your rocks of flowers, But their splendor makes them fine.

Cliffs of Scotland, at your base Freedom's finest children lie; Keep them in your strong embrace!

Tell the young of every race Such as they shall never die.

Cliffs of Scotland, never more Men shall think you stern and cold; Splendor now has found your sh.o.r.e; Unto you the ocean bore Freedom's precious sons to hold.

Mother's Party Dress

"Some day," says Ma, "I'm goin' to get A party dress all trimmed with jet, An' hire a seamstress in, an' she Is goin' to fit it right on me; An' then, when I'm invited out To teas an' socials hereabout, I'll put it on an' look as fine As all th' women friends of mine."

An' Pa looked up: "I sold a cow,"

Says he, "go down an' get it now."

An' Ma replied: "I guess I'll wait, We've other needs that's just as great.

The children need some clothes to wear, An' there are shoes we must repair; It ain't important now to get A dress fer me, at least not yet; I really can't afford it."

Ma's talked about that dress fer years; How she'd have appliqued revers; The kind o' trimmin' she would pick; How 't would be made to fit her slick; The kind o' black silk she would choose, The pattern she would like to use.

An' I can mind the time when Pa Give twenty dollars right to Ma, An' said: "Now that's enough, I guess, Go buy yourself that party dress."

An' Ma would take th' bills an' smile, An' say: "I guess I'll wait awhile; Aunt Kitty's poorly now with chills, She needs a doctor and some pills; I'll buy some things fer her, I guess; An' anyhow, about that dress, I really can't afford it."

An' so it's been a-goin' on, Her dress fer other things has gone; Some one in need or some one sick Has always touched her to th' quick; Or else, about th' time 'at she Could get th' dress, she'd always see The children needin' somethin' new; An' she would go an' get it, too.

An' when we frowned at her, she'd smile An' say: "The dress can wait awhile."

Although her mind is set on laces, Her heart goes out to other places; An' somehow, too, her money goes In ways that only mother knows.

While there are things her children lack She won't put money on her back; An' that is why she hasn't got A party dress of silk, an' not Because she can't afford it.

Little Fishermen

A little ship goes out to sea As soon as we have finished tea; Off yonder where the big moon glows This tiny little vessel goes, But never grown-up eyes have seen The ports to which this ship has been; Upon the sh.o.r.e the old folks stand Till morning brings it back to land.

In search of smiles this little ship Each evening starts upon a trip; Just smiles enough to last the day Is it allowed to bring away; So nightly to some golden sh.o.r.e It must set out alone for more, And sail the rippling sea for miles Until the hold is full of smiles.

By gentle hands the sails are spread; The stars are glistening overhead And in that hour when tiny ships Prepare to make their evening trips The sea becomes a wondrous place, As beautiful as mother's face; And all the day's disturbing cries Give way to soothing lullabies.

No clang of bell or warning shout Is heard on sh.o.r.e when they put out; The little vessels slip away As silently as does the day.

And all night long on sands of gold They cast their nets, and fill the hold With smiles and joys beyond compare, To cheer a world that's sad with care.

The Cookie-Lady

She is gentle, kind and fair, And there's silver in her hair; She has known the touch of sorrow, But the smile of her is sweet; And sometimes it seems to me That her mission is to be The gracious cookie-lady To the youngsters of the street.

All the children in the block Daily stand beside the crock, Where she keeps the sugar cookies That the little folks enjoy; And no morning pa.s.ses o'er That a tapping at her door Doesn't warn her of the visit Of a certain little boy.

She has made him feel that he Has a natural right to be In her kitchen when she's baking Pies and cakes and ginger bread; And each night to me he brings All the pretty, tender things About little by-gone children That the cookie-lady said.

Oh, dear cookie-lady sweet, May you beautify our street With your kind and gentle presence Many more glad years, I pray; May the skies be bright above you, As you've taught our babes to love you; You will scar their hearts with sorrow If you ever go away.

Life is strange, and when I scan it, I believe G.o.d tries to plan it, So that where He sends his babies In that neighborhood to dwell, One of rare and gracious beauty Shall abide, whose sweetest duty Is to be the cookie-lady That the children love so well.