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Dishonor shall stamp us with shame
And freedom be naught but a name,
And the few years of dearly bought breath
Will be filled with worse horrors than death.
★★★
The Flag on the Farm
We’ve raised a flagpole on the farm
And flung Old Glory to the sky,
And it’s another touch of charm
That seems to cheer the passer-by,
But more than that, no matter where
We’re laboring in wood and field,
We turn and see it in the air,
Our promise of a greater yield.
It whispers to us all day long
From dawn to dusk: “Be true, be strong;
Who falters now with plow or hoe
Gives comfort to his country’s foe.”
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