AH! here's the box! And there's his baby shoe; And there his little christening robe and cap! I mind that springtime Sunday long ago They brought him back and laid him in my lap. He was a stirring youngster, and his feet Outgrew no shoes that weren't first outworn. I mind that day he ran out in the street, And it a bare twelve months since he was born. 'Twas flags was in it then, and fifes and drums; A passing band of lads that fought with Spain. Flags always called him so. * * * How plainly comes My last sight of him marching to the train! And here's the box, with all his baby things; And here's another treasure it must hold -- The last flag and his own! The flag that brings His glory home! O little star of gold! |