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| HERE is his little cambric frock | |
| That I laid by in lavender so sweet, | |
| And here his tiny shoe and sock | |
| I made with loving care for his dear feet. | |
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| I fold the frock across my breast, | 5 |
| And in imagination, ah, my sweet, | |
| Once more I hush my babe to rest, | |
| And once again I warm those little feet. | |
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| Where do those strong young feet now stand? | |
| In flooded trench, half numb to cold or pain, | 10 |
| Or marching through the desert sand | |
| To some dread place that they may never gain. | |
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| God guide him and his men to-day! | |
| Though death may lurk in any tree or hill, | |
| His brave young spirit is their stay, | 15 |
| Trusting in that they’ll follow where he will. | |
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| They love him for his tender heart | |
| When poverty or sorrow asks his aid, | |
| But he must see each do his part— | |
| Of cowardice alone he is afraid. | 20 |
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| I ask no honours on the field, | |
| That other men have won as brave as he— | |
| I only pray that God may shield | |
| My son, and bring him safely back to me! | |
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