<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Knitting Socks</h1><p class="inline-note" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40">The Boston Transcript reprinted the following poem in 1917, just as it appeared in that paper November 27, 1861.</p><div class="stanza"><p class="line">CLICK, click! how the needles go </p><p class="line">Through the busy fingers, to and fro--</p><p class="line">With no bright colors of berlin wool, </p><p class="line">Delicate hands today are full: </p><p class="line">Only a yarn of deep, dull blue, </p><p class="line">Socks for the feet of the brave and true. </p><p class="line">Yet click, click, how the needles go, </p><p class="line">'Tis a power within that nerves them so. </p><p class="line">In the sunny hours of the bright spring day, </p><p class="line">And still in the night time far away. </p><p class="line">Maiden, mother, grandame sit </p><p class="line">Earnest and thoughtful while they knit.</p><p class="line">Many the silent prayers they pray, </p><p class="line">Many the tear drops brushed away. </p><p class="line">While busy on the needles go, </p><p class="line">Widen and narrow, heel and toe. </p><p class="line">The grandame thinks with a thrill of pride</p><p class="line">How her mother knit and spun beside </p><p class="line">For that patriot band in olden days </p><p class="line">Who died the Stars and Stripes to raise--</p><p class="line">Now she in turn knits for the brave </p><p class="line">Who'd die that glorious flag to save. </p><p class="line">She is glad, she says, ''the boys" have gone, </p><p class="line">'Tis just as their grandfathers would have done. </p><p class="line">But she heaves a sigh and the tears will start, </p><p class="line">For "the boys" were the pride of grandame's heart. </p><p class="line">The mother's look is calm and high, </p><p class="line">God only hears her soul's deep cry--</p><p class="line">In Freedom's name, at Freedom's call, </p><p class="line">She gave her sons--in them her all. </p><p class="line">The maiden's cheek wears a paler shade.</p><p class="line">But the light in her eyes is undismayed. </p><p class="line">Faith and hope give strength to her sight, </p><p class="line">She sees a red dawn after the night. </p><p class="line">Oh, soldiers brave, will it brighten the day, </p><p class="line">And shorten the march on the weary way, </p><p class="line">To know that at home the loving and true </p><p class="line">Are knitting and hoping and praying for your </p><p class="line">Soft are the voices when speaking your name, </p><p class="line">Proud are their glories when hearing your fame. </p><p class="line">And the gladdest hour in their lives will be </p><p class="line">When they greet you after the victory. </p></div></body></html> · Great War