pletely wrecks,
For there's no place where you may not find
poor Ma's elusive specs.

But we're mighty glad, I tell you, that the
duty's ours to do,
An' we hope to hunt those glasses till our time
of life is through;
It's a little bit of service that is joyous in its
thrill,
It's a task that calls us daily an' we hope it
always will.
Rich or poor, the saddest mortals of all the
joyless masses
Are the ones who have no mother dear to lose
her reading glasses.

THE PRINCESS PAT'S

_Written when the Canadian regi-
ment known as the "Princess Pat's,"
left for the front._

A touch of the plain and the prairie,
A bit of the Motherland, too;
A strain of the fur-trapper wary,
A blend of the old and the new;
A bit of the pioneer splendor
That opened the wilderness' flats,
A touch of the home-lover, tender,