Alan L. Strang

        Written for the first thrift stamp drive.


        I want to be a soldier
            And march away to France;
        I want to find a wicked "Hun,"
            And shoot him in the pants.

        I want to be a soldier,
            And wear a khaki suit;
        I want to have a sword and gun
            And all the "Boches" shoot.

        I want to be a soldier,
            And have an aeroplane
        To drop bombs on the German towns,
            And fly back home again.

        I want to be a soldier
            And do my little bit;
        My country needs brave fighting men,
            While here at home I sit.

        Some day I'll be a big, big man;
            I'll go to war and fight
   ...

        Written for Decoration Day, May 30, 1918.


        I wove me a wreath of flowers
            To place in memories hall,
        In honor of the brave and fearless men
            Who had answered our country's call.
        The men who had answered, and fought, and died
            For the cause of freedom, our country's pride!

        I wove me a wreath of flowers
            With many a sigh and tear,
        As a tribute to all the good and true
            Who were given few honors here.
        The man of humble piety
            Who lived and died in obscurity.

        A wreath of flowers, a little thing
            For flowers wither and fade;
        But the fragrance they shed is not soon forgot
            By me, who th...

        Do not worry over trifles, though
            to you they may seem great,
        All your fretting will not help you,
            or your troubles dissipate.

        If your sky is dark and gloomy,
            and the sun is hid from view,
        Bravely smile and keep on smiling,
            And your friends will smile with you.

        Happiness is so contagious, and a
            smile is never lost;
        Then why worry over trifles, tho
            your heart seems tempest tossed.

        Therefore go on life's journey
            with an optimistic smile,
        See the world is good to live in,
            and that living is worth while.

        Away o'er the hills in the valley green
        Away from the noise of the busy town;
        I dream sweet dreams of the olden days
        Of you in your beautiful wedding gown.

        I dream that you come and sit by me
        And you hold my hand and ruff my hair;
        Your eyes shine with a sweet delight
        That I used to see so often there.

        Then my heart is filled with a hallowed love
        And I know t'is but a little way
        To the spirit land, and I know that I
        Shall meet you there some glad sweet day.

        Then our wedding day in the spirit land
        Will be filled with love and joy serene;
        And the infinite hand will guide us where
        The waters are still and the valleys green.

        Our loved ones lay them down to sleep
            And leave us here to grieve and mourn,
        While we, our silent watches keep,
            O'er their low graves whence they are bourne.
        Some heroes are in battle slain,
            Their names are honored far and near,
        While others die on beds of pain
            And no sad mourner sheds a tear.

        This day we honor each and all
            Whose soul has left its temporal case;
        And be he great, or be he small,
            We'll reverence his resting place.

        Written when the clock was set ahead one hour on April 1, 1918.


        Our Rooster wakes at half-past five
        And crows with all his might,
        He tries to wake the people up
        Before the day is light.
        When Daddy hears the rooster crow
        He knows he should awake
        And light the kitchen fire, so Ma
        Can cook the Johnny cake.

        Now, maybe we can fool my Dad
        That it's half-past five when it's half-past four,
        And maybe the system's the best we have had
        To fool some thousands of people or more;
        But, how can we fool that rooster?

        I have always thought our rooster had
        A clock inside of his head,
        And I don't know how we can fix it so...

Masata was an Indian boy, he lived on the banks of the Ohio River in
Kentucky. During the Revolutionary War in 1771, the Americans were
taking over the land very fast, and when Masata was ten years old his
parents moved to the wild regions of the Dakotas, taking Masata with
them.

Here he enjoyed life although it was much colder than in his native
Kentucky, and in the Winter months he wore coats of fur made from bear
skin.

The days soon became filled with interesting things for Masata. One day
when he was roaming through the wilds, he heard a wild buffalo
approaching. He seemed almost helpless, as he had nothing but a small
bow and a few arrows, and the buffalo was only a short distance from
him. He began to run in what he thought was the direction of his home,
bu...

        Written after the United States entered the war, fighting on the side of the Entente Allies.


        Halt! Attention! Salute the flag,
            The boys are marching by;
        They're going forth to win the war
            For us to do or die.
        Our country needed fighting men,
            Her liberty to save;
        These boys responded to the call,
            And all they had they gave.

        All loyal hearts are beating fast,
            And hope our bosoms fill;
        For liberty shall reign supreme
            O'er ocean, dale and hill.
        With no regrets for parted hopes
            Or futures cast aside,
        Our soldier boys are marching by;
            They are our country's pride.

        Written as a tribute to my brother, W. M. Strang, with the Engineers.


        He said, "I'm Daddy's soldier boy,"
            When he was five years old;
        And then went out and built snow forts,
            Although the day was cold.

        The snowballs were his hand grenades,
            A stick his bayonette;
        And with a home-made wooden gun
            The foe he bravely met.

        In five more years he joined the "scouts"
            And hiked across the hills;
        He learned to wear a khaki suit,
            And do military drills.

        And so the years passed swiftly on,
            And now he is a man;
        He's in the trenches over there,
            Fighting for Uncle Sam.

  ...

        I've a lily of the Valley
        That I'm keeping here for you;
        I care for and protect it,
        And water it with dew.
        It is a living emblem
        Of the wonderful domain,
        Where all is pure and love-like,
        And where we feel no pain.

        Yes, the Lily of the Valley
        Is a tie twixt you and me;
        For every time you see one
        Think how happy I must be.
        I'm an atom of the infinite,
        How wonderful it seems;
        Yet from your sphere the finite
        But a thin veil intervenes.

        I have roses in my garden,
        And their fragrance fills the air.
        How I love to watch them blooming;
        For they all are very fair.

        Some have deep red velvet petals,
        Some again are snowy white;
        And the little baby pink ones,
        Surely give you such delight.

        Pretty birds come to my garden,
        And sing there the live-long day;
        Yes the birds and pretty flowers
        Help and cheer us on our way.

SPRING

        Spring time is here with its sunshine and showers,
        All nature is waking from its long winter sleep.
        The gardens are blooming with beautiful flowers,
        The song-birds are carolling melodies sweet.


SUMMER

        The summer comes with glaring heat,
        And we will have vacation;
        We pack our grips for the seashore trips,
        Or other recreation.


AUTUMN

        The harvest moon is shining bright,
        The leaves are falling everywhere;
        How glorious is the autumn night,
        How cool and bracing is the air.


WINTER

        Jack frost is stalking through the land,
        The ground is covered white, with snow.
        We like to si...

        The rough old Mr. Storm
            Is whirling, swirling past
        He makes the treetops bow their heads
            And trembles at his blast.

        He never stops to think
            Of the damage he may do,
        He's always rushing in and out
            And hitting, batting you.

        He pushes big, black clouds
            Against the mountain tops;
        The rain and hail comes rushing down
        In large, round crystal drops.

        The storm will soon be over;
            See the rainbow in the sky.
        The birds will sing on airy wing,
            And the bright sun shine on high.

        This little book's a letter,
            I send direct to you;
        I hope that you will like it,
            And read it thru and thru.
        And after you have read it,
            Just send a thot to me;
        Your thots will help to make me
            The "Poet" I would be.

                        Yours very truly,

                                    ALAN L. STRANG,

                        Redwood City, California.

A BIRTHDAY WISH.

        I'm wishing a happy birthday,
        To you my dear sweet friend;
        And may every day be a happy day
        Is the wish I will always send.


A CHRISTMAS WISH.

        A Merry Christmas Wish to you,
        And may your heart be gay;
        May Santa bring you many things,
        This Merry Christmas day.


A NEW YEAR WISH

        A happy happy, New Year,
        We all are wishing you;
        We hope no sorrow you shall know
        This whole year through.