PUT IT THROUGH.

While one traitor thought remains,
While one spot its banner stains,
One link of all its chains:
Put it through!

Hear our brothers in the field,

Steel your swords as their's are steeled,
Learn to wield the arms they wield:
Put it through!

Lock the shop and lock the store,
Chalk this upon the door,
"We've enlisted for the War!"
Put it through!

For the Birthrights yet unsold,
For the History yet untold,

For the Future yet unrolled,
Put it through!

Lest our children point with shame,
On the father's dastard fame,

Who gave up a nation's name,
Put it through!

Father Abram, hear us cry,

"We can follow, we can die."

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154

Lead

ROLL CALL.

your children then, and try
Put it through!

Here's a work of God half done,
Here's the kingdom of His Son,
With its triumphs just begun :
Put it through!

Father Abram, that man thrives
Who with every weapon strives;
Use our twenty million lives!
Put it through!

'Tis to you the Trust is given!
'Tis by you the Bolt is driven !
By the very God of Heaven,
Drive it through!

ROLL CALL.

BY N. G. SHEPHERD.

YORPORAL Green!" the orderly cried;
"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,
From the lips of a soldier who stood near;
And "Here!" was the word the next replied.

ROLL CALL.

"Cyrus Drew! " then a silence fell,
This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear-man had seen him fall,
Killed or wounded he could not tell.

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There they stood in the failing light,
These men of battle, with grave, dark looks,
As plain to be read as open books;
While slowly gathered the shade of night.

The fern on the hill-sides were splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Wore redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson-dyed as the river's flood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side
That day, in the face of a murderous fire
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.

"Herbert Cline!". At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line,

Bearing between them this Herbert Cline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

"Ezra Kerr !"—and a voice answered " Here!" "Hiram Kerr!" but no man replied:

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"PICCIOLA."

They were brothers, these two; the sad wind

sighed,

And a shudder crept through the corn-field near.

"Ephraim Deane ! " then a soldier spoke :

"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said, "When our ensign was shot; I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

"Close to the roadside his body lies;

I paused a moment and gave him to drink; He murmured his mother's name, I think; And Death came with it and closed his eyes."

'T was a victory—yes: but it cost us dear;
For that company's roll, when called at night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered “Here!”

"PICCIOLA."

T was a sergeant old and gray,

IT

Well singed and bronzed from siege and pillage,

Went tramping in an army's wake,

Along the turnpike of the village.

"PICCIOLA."

For days and nights the winding host

Had through the little place been marching, And ever loud the rustics cheered,

Till ev'ry throat was hoarse and parching.

The squire and farmer, maid and dame,
All took the sight's electric stirring,
And hats were waved, and staves were sung,
And 'kerchiefs white were countless whirling.

They only saw a gallant show

Of heroes stalwart under banners,

And in the fierce heroic glow

'T was theirs to yield but wild hosannahs.

The sergeant heard the shrill hurrahs,
Where he behind in step was keeping;

But glancing down beside the road
He saw a little maid sit weeping.

"And how is this?" he gruffly said,

A moment pausing to regard her; "Why weepest thou, my little chit?

And then she only cried the harder.

"And how is this, my little chit?"

The sturdy trooper straight repeated,

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