Leave Me This Last Shred of Hope

Let us leave the answer

For the historian to record

We who have not prophet-eyes

To read the future

Cry with a terrible wailing

The senselessness of the last warring struggle.

Backward in history

Like-wailings were heard,

Yet time built a monument to freedom

On the graves of its martyrs--

The cross of Calvary

Transposed a song of death

Into a timeless symphony of life.

So may the fields of crosses

Blossom into the beauty

Of freedom for all men.

Leave me this last shred of home

For my son was killed in Korea.

His Hands

Cymbals clang and drums beat loud,

Drums that chant of death.

Terror's mighty horsemen ride

With their flaming breath.

On the far Korean shore

Where our sons are dying,

Little children, scarred and thin,

In their need are crying.

Jesus bids us be His hands,

Feed His sheep in war-torn lands.

The Archer

First in Archer Miniature Contest

Letter from Korea

O Dad, what are you doing with my land
While I am here where barren soil is red
Lighting the lamp of hope in this dark strand,
Rekindling fires of liberty long dead.
America, the Eden of the earth!
Oh, keep her clean and strong and firm in right.
When I return to her, I want rebirth
Where peaceful horsemen ride the steeds of light.
Last night it seemed I saw the Goddess weep,
Reaching her arms to you beseechingly,
And to the other fathers there asleep
All drunken with the wine of apathy.
O Dad, it seemed I heard within my dream
The clang of chains above the Eagle's scream.

Different

To My Son (Leaving for Korea)

O pilot now your ship of days or years
Unerringly to reach a promised goal.
The Master Helmsman will allay your fears
And still the tempests that would scar your soul.
You leave the haven of a citadel
Which greed would now destroy; so let a song
Rise from your heard that you may break the spell
Of avarice that moves a Judas-throng.
Wearing white armor, go and give release;
Brave terror's henchmen on the death-strewn plain;
Bid earth to sing a canticle of peace,
Become a sanctuary--love's domain.
Your shield is youth's clean strength which you have won--
God's arm is long to reach to you, my son.

The Improvement Era