We never knew how much the Flag Could mean, until he went away, We used to boast of it and brag, As something of a by-gone day; But now the Flag can start our te…

I’m sorry for a fellow if he canno… In a grate fire’s friendly flaming… If in quiet contemplation of a che… He sees nothing there recalling al… Then his mind is dead to fancy and…

Come you with dangers to fright us… to try out our souls? Then may you find us undaunted; de… get to our goals. Now, white are the pages you bring…

Whose luck is better far than ours… The other fellow’s. Whose road seems always lined with… The other fellow’s. Who is the man who seems to get

Home was never home before, Till the baby came. Love no golden jewels wore, Till the baby came. There was joy, but now it seems

It’s September, and the orchards… And the nights with dew are heavy,… Now the garden’s at its gayest wit… And the good old-fashioned asters… Once again in shoes and stockings…

When The Minister Calls My Paw says that it used to be, Whenever the minister came for tea… ‘At they sat up straight in their… An’ put all their common things ou…

Lord, make me tolerant and wise; Incline my ears to hear him throug… Let him not stand with downcast ey… Fearing to trust me and be true. Instruct me so that I may know

When he has suffered honest woe, I do not mind the man who grieves, But I hate him who stubs his toe And straightway gets a case of ‘ p…

The patter of rain on the roof, The glint of the sun on the rose; Of life, these the warp and the wo… The weaving that everyone knows. Now grief with its consequent tear…

When a little baby dies And the wee form silent lies, And the little cheeks seem waxen And the little hands are still, Then your soul gives way to treaso…

He shall be great who serves his c… He shall be loved who ever guards… His worth the starry banner long s… Who loves his land too much to sto… Who shares the splendor of these s…

Aye, we will follow the Flag Wherever she goes, Into the tropic sun, Into the northern snows; Go where the guns ring out

IF the song I have to sing Is a dreary, gloomy thing, I would rather silent be; If I cannot sing of cheer, I will never let you hear