THE FLAG GOES BY.

The Flag Goes By.

HATS off!

Along the street there comes

A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,

A flash of color beneath the sky.
Hats off!

The flag is passing by!

Blue, and crimson, and white it shines,
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines.

Hats off!

The colors before us fly;

But more than the flag is passing by.

Sea fights and land fights, grim and great,

Fought to make and to save the state;
Weary marches and sinking ships;

Cheers of victory on dying lips;

Days of plenty, and years of peace,

March of a strong land's swift increase;

Equal justice, right, and law,

Stately honor and reverend awe;

Sign of a Nation, great and strong,
To ward her people from foreign wrong;

Pride, and glory, and honor, all
Live in the colors to stand or fall.

Hats off!

Along the street there comes

A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums;

And loyal hearts are beating high.

Hats off!

The flag is passing by!

-H. H. Bennett.

SONG OF THE BATTLE-SHIPS.

Song of the Battle-ships.

MIND of man, what have you wrought,

From the ribs of mother earth,

From the soil that gave you birth?

Mind of man, what have you wrought?

You have builded mighty navies, you have made the sea your slave,

And the booming of your cannon strikes the crest of every wave;

You have dug into the bowels of the earth's eternal

hills,

Tearing out the stubborn metals for the grinding of your mills;

For the forging of your hammers, for the blowing of your blasts,

For the making of your armor, for the building of your masts;

For the guns whose rolling thunders frighten half a world in awe,

Shouting out the fateful message, "Right is Might, and Might is Law."

Oh, the guns, great guns,

Shooting forty million tons;

Shooting death, and shooting hell!
Aim, you gunners, aim them well.

You have slaved a million freemen for the digging of your coal,

For your engines throbbing wildly, like a panting human soul.

You have chained the ragged lightning, and you hold it in your hand,

By the pressing of a button you can devastate a land.

Oh, the fury of your anger! Oh, the pent-up seas of blood

That shall wet the ocean's battles with a gory, human flood!

Oh, the booming of your cannon! Oh, the millions you shall slay,

When the wrath of man is loosened in a frightful judgment day!

Mind of man, what have you wrought,

From the ribs of mother earth,

From the soil that gave you birth?

Mind of man, what have you wrought?

-C. F. Harper.

THE SOLDIER BOY FOR ME.

The Soldier Boy for me.

THE man who wears the shoulder-straps

And has his sword in hand,

Who proudly strides along in front,

Looks good, and brave, and grand;
But, back there in the ranks somewhere, -
Just which I cannot see,

With his gun upon his shoulder, is
The soldier boy for me!

The man who wears the shoulder-straps
Is handsome, brave, and true,
But there are other handsome boys,

And other brave ones, too!

When there are heights that must be won

While bullets fill the air,

'Tis not the officer alone

Who braves the dangers there.

The man who wears the shoulder-straps
Is cheered along the way,

And public honor dulls his dread

Of falling in the fray;

But, there behind him in the ranks,

And moving like a part