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KNITTING SOCKS

Click, click, click! How the needles go-
Through the busy fingers to and fro-
With no bright colors of Berlin wool,
Delicate hands to-day are full-
Only a yarn of deep, dull blue,
Socks for the feet of the brave and true.
Yet click, click, how the needles go,
‘Tis a power within that nerves them so-
In the sunny hours of the bright spring day,
And still in the night-time far away,
Maiden, Mother, and Grandame sit
Earnest and thoughtfully while they knit.
Many the silent prayer they pray,
Many the tear-drops brushed away
While busy on the needles go,
Widen and narrow, heel and toe.
The Grandame thinks, with a thrill of pride,
How her Mother knit and spun beside
For that patriot band in olden days
Who died the “Stars and Stripes” to raise-
Now she in turn knits for the brave
Who’d die that glorious flag to save.
She is glad, she says, “the boys” have gone,
‘Tis just what their Grandfathers would have done.
But she heaves a sigh, and the tears will start,
For “the boys” were the pride of the Grandame’s heart.
The Mother’s look is calm and high,
God only knows her soul’s deep cry.
In Freedom’s name, at Freedom’s call,
She gave her sons - in them - her all.
The Maiden’s cheek wears a paler shade,
But the light in her eye is undismayed;
Faith and hope give strength to her sight,
She sees a red dawn after the night.
Oh, soldiers brave, will it brighten the day,
And shorten the march on the weary way,
To know that at Home the loving and true,
Are knitting and hoping, and praying for you?
Soft are their voices when speaking your name,
Proud are their glories when bearing your fame,
And the gladdest hour in their lives will be,
When they greet you after the victory.

Anonymous Civil War Era