I may never be a hero, I am past the limit now,
There are pencil marks of silver Time has left upon my brow;
I shall win no service medals, I shall hear no cannons' roar,
I shall never fight a battle higher up than eagles soar,
For all the beauties of the day,
The innocence of childhood's play,
For health and strength and laughter sweet,
Dear Lord, our thanks we now repeat.
If you would please me when I've passed away
Let not your grief embitter you. Be brave;
Turn with full courage from my mounded grave
The mother on the sidewalk as the troops are marching by
Is the mother of Old Glory that is waving in the sky.
Men have fought to keep it splendid, men have died to keep it bright,
There is sorrow in the household;
There's a grief too hard to bear;
There's a little cheek that's tear-stained
There's a sobbing baby there.
The green is in the meadow and the blue is in the sky,
And all of Nature's artists have their colors handy by;
With a few days bright with sunshine and a few nights free from frost
The happiest nights
I ever know
Are those when I've
No place to go,
Let every day be Mother's Day!
Make roses grow along her way
And beauty everywhere.
The leaves are falling one by one,
The Summer days are past and gone,
The nights are cool and damp;
The little children think it strange