He'll spend his Christmas 'neath the Flag; he'll miss each merry face,
Old Glory smiling down on him must take his mother's place,
Yet in the Christmas box we've sent, in fancy he will find
The laughter and the tears of joy that he has left behind.
His mother's tenderness is there, his father's kindly way,
And all that went last year to make his merry Christmas Day;
He'll see once more his sister's smile, he'll hear the baby shout,
And as he opens every gift we'll gather round about.
He cannot come to share with us the joys of Christmas Day;
The Flag has called to him, and he is serving far away.
Undaunted, unafraid and fine he stands to duty grim,
And so this Christmas we have tried to ship ourselves to him.
A Plea
God grant me these: the strength to do
Some needed service here;
The wisdom to be brave and true;
The gift of vision clear,
That in each task that comes to me
Some purpose I may plainly see.
God teach me to believe that I
Am stationed at a post,
Although the humblest 'neath the sky,
Where I am needed most,
And that, at last, if I do well,
My humble services will tell.
God grant me faith to stand on guard,
Uncheered, unspoke, alone,
And see behind such duty hard
My service to the throne.
Whate'er my task, be this my creed:
I am on earth to fill a need.
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