I must be fit for a child's glad greeting, His are eyes that there is no cheating; He must behold me in every test, Not at my worst, but my very best… - Edgar Guest

Life is a gift that the humblest may boast of
And one that the humblest may well make the most of.
Get out and live it each hour of the day,
Wear it and use it as much as you may;
Don't keep it in niches and corners and grooves,
You'll find that in service its beauty improves.

I did not stop to ask the lad his little tale to tell,
There was no need of that because I knew the story well - "She never gave a chance to me!" that sentence held it all.
A hundred times I'd lived the scene in days when I was small,
A broken rule, a teacher vexed, hot rage where calm belonged,
A guilty judgment blindly made - a youngster sadly wronged.<p>I still can see that little chap upon his homeward way,
"She never gave a chance to me," I still can hear him say,
And so I write this verse for him, and all the girls and boys
Who shall their tutors now and then disturb with needless noise.
Be fair, you teachers of our land, in every circumstance;
Don't let some little fellow say he never had a chance.

It was thick with Prussian troopers, it was foul
with German guns;
Every tree that cast a shadow was a sheltering
place for Huns.
Death was guarding every roadway, death was watching
every field,
And behind each rise of terrain was a rapid-fire concealed;
Uncle Sam's Marines had orders: "Drive the Boche
from where they're hid.
For the honor of Old Glory, take the woods!" And
so they did.