swept out over the docks and across the white town, and back across the
Atlantic, I said to myself: "That volume sounds as if it could make
itself heard back home."

The man beside me said: "The folks back home hear it all right, for
they are eagerly listening for every sound that comes from that crowd
of boys. Yes, the folks back home hear it, and they'll 'keep the home
fires burning' all right. God bless them!"

The last Silhouette of Song stands out against a background of green
trees and spring, and the odor of a hospital, and Red Cross nurses
going and coming, and boys lying in white robes everywhere. My friend
the song-leader had gone with me to hold the vesper service in the
hospital. Then we visited in the wards in order to see those who were
so severely wounded that they could not get to the service.

There was a little group of men in one room. The first thing I knew my
friend had them singing. At first they took to it awkwardly. Then
more courageously. Then sweetly there rang through the hospital the
strains of "My Daddy Over There."

It melted my heart, for I have a baby girl at home who says to the
neighbors, "My daddy is the prettiest man in the world," and believes
it. I said to Cray: "Why did you sing that particular song?"

"Oh," he replied, "my baby's name is 'Betty,' and I found a guy whose
baby's name is 'Betty' too, and we had a sort of club formed; and
another guy had a baby boy, and then I just thought they'd like to sing
'My Daddy Over There.' But we ended up with 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,'
so that ought to suit you."