From the Albuquerque Morning Journal, February 4, 1915. By Elias Lieberman.
No tune of tootling fife,
No beat of the rolling drum,
And yet with the thrill of life
The hordes of children come,
Freckled and chubby and lean,
Indifferent, good and bad,
Bedraggled and dirty and clean,
Richly and poorly clad,
They come on toddling feet
To the schoolhouse door ahead;
The neighboring alley and street
Resound to the infant tread.
Children of those who came
To the land of the promising west,
Foreign of face and name,
Are shoulder to shoulder pressed
With the youth of the native land
In the quest of truth and light,
As the valorous little band
Trudges to left and right.
Creed and color and race
Unite from the ends of the earth,
Blending each noble trace
In the pride of a glorious birth.
Race and hate and the past
Fuse in a melting heat
As the little hearts beat fast
To the stir of a common beat,
A fresher brawn and brain
For the stock which the fates destroy
Belong to the cosmic strain
Of American girl and boy.