Written May 14, 1938 at age 43

While war clouds hover far across the sea,

Let's hear this gold-star mother's timely plea.

"The Martian sunset clouds my eyes today.

The quarrels of Europe seemed so far away;

And yet, my boys, who answered unfair draft

Of yesteryear, are gone. My friends, they laughed.

They hoped to win a war to end all wars.

They tried with hate to close all hatred's doors,

And failed. They failed to keep their souls' pure light

From ebbing out; and souls that shone less bright,

Had looked to them for guidance throughout the night,

That they might find that haven known as Right.

Those European nations stopped the flow

Of Progress, just to lay their rivals low.

For generations they have often fought;

While wasted wealth vast pleasures could have bought.

But no! They count a neighbor as a foe;

And feel relieved when his life's blood does flow.

Their quarrels are first; their honor always last;

For, have they paid us for the World War, past?

For young men's lives, and grieving wives, and health?

They also failed to pay us back our wealth.

The foreign grave-yards of our fallen dead,

Can have no sign marked "U. S." at their head.

Our Uncle Sam pays rent for every plot.

They can't resist to rob us, dead, or not.

"My friends, another quarrel comes to them

Whose bitter hatred they tried not to stem.

O why can't we resist their plotting troth

That leads the fool into their 'Devil's Broth'?

If we but study, we shall surely see

That not a working person there is free.

This land, God gave us as a heritage.

Let's keep our peace while other nations rage.

We haven't much to lose if we stay home;

But warring people always have to roam.

The 'Field of Honor' knows no foreign shores;

So let us stand UNITED at our doors.

Let's be so strong they dare not us invade;

Let's help both sides, withholding every aid.

They'll be the stronger if they walk alone;

For helpless child is helpless, even grown.

Our gracious God placed this land far away,

That those who outgrew hatred here could stay,

And use the plowshare, rather than the sword.

We MUST keep from that hating, warring horde!

They say, "A fool his folly oft repeats";

And Folly, fools and war-lords soon unseats.

My friends, we can not ever right a wrong,

By killing off our young men, pure and strong.

Let's not repeat our folly of the past;

And thereby safeguard FREEDOM to the last."