| The Kid has gone to the Colors |
| And we don't know what to say; |
| The Kid we have loved and cuddled |
| Stepped out for the Flag to-day. |
| We thought him a child, a baby |
| With never a care at all, |
| But his country called him man-size |
| And the Kid has heard the call. |
| |
| He paused to watch the recruiting, |
| Where, fired by the fife and drum, |
| He bowed his head to Old Glory |
| And thought that it whispered: "Come!" |
| The Kid, not being a slacker, |
| Stood forth with patriot-joy |
| To add his name to the roster— |
| And God, we're proud of the boy! |
| |
| The Kid has gone to the Colors; |
| It seems but a little while |
| Since he drilled a schoolboy army |
| In a truly martial style, |
| But now he's a man, a soldier, |
| And we lend him a listening ear, |
| For his heart is a heart all loyal, |
| Unscourged by the curse of fear. |
| |
| His dad, when he told him, shuddered, |
| His mother—God bless her!—cried; |
| Yet, blest with a mother-nature, |
| She wept with a mother-pride, |
| But he whose old shoulders straightened |
| Was Granddad—for memory ran |
| To years when he, too, a youngster, |
| Was changed by the Flag to a man! |
| |
| W.M. Herschell. |
