And vital memories be mine.
God's test of manhood is, I know,
Not "Will he come?" but "Did he go?"
My son well knew that he might die,
And yet he went, with purpose high,
To fight for peace, and overthrow
The plans of Christ's relentless foe.
He dreaded not the battle-field;
He went to make fierce vandals yield.
If he comes not again to me
I shall be sad; but not that he
Went like a man—a hero true—
His part unselfishly to do.
My heart will feel exultant pride
That for humanity he died.
"Forgotten grave!" This selfish plea
Awakes no deep response in me,
For, though his grave I may not see,
My boy will ne'er forgotten be.
My real son can never die;
'Tis but his body that may lie
In foreign land, and I shall keep
Remembrance fond, forever, deep
Within my heart of my true son
Because of triumphs that he won.
It matters not where any one
May lie and sleep when work is done.
