The Service Flag by William Herschell

Dear little flag in the window there,
Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer,
Child of Old Glory, born with a star—
Oh, what a wonderful flag you are!
 
Blue is your star in its field of white,
Dipped in the red that was born of fight;
Born of the blood that our forebears shed
To raise your mother, The Flag, o'er-head.
 
And now you've come, in this frenzied day,
To speak from a window—to speak and say:
"I am the voice of a soldier son,
Gone, to be gone till the victory's won.
 
"I am the flag of The Service, sir:
The flag of his mother—I speak for her
Who stands by my window and waits and fears,
But hides from the others her unwept tears.
 
"I am the flag of the wives who wait
For the safe return of a martial mate—
A mate gone forth where the war god thrives,
To save from sacrifice other men's wives.
 
"I am the flag of the sweethearts true;
The often unthought of—the sisters, too.
I am the flag of a mother's son,
Who won't come home till the victory's won!"
 
Dear little flag in the window there,
Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer,
Child of Old Glory, born with a star—
Oh, what a wonderful flag you are!