Among the priceless treasures we have at home is a picture of
Lieutenant Hanley standing among a bower of roses. This was sent
to his mother just before he left the United States. How like
those roses was he--the most perfect flower of all. The dew of
youth, the rosy bloom of manhood, the purity of those fragrant
petals in his soul, all speak to us from that portrait. It seems
as if:

A happy smile flits 'cross his face,
The dream of fair Elysian fields,
A vision of the old home place
To darkened memories swiftly yields.

God had turned the trenches to roses again
When they bore him home across the wave
He was true to self, to God, and man
And was leaving a land he died to save.

How quiet on that August morn
The tolling bell gave forth its sound.
In star-draped casket, slowly borne,
A treasure not of earth was found.

Like dew upon a flower sleeping
Or fairest hue of sunset skies
A jewel in the master's keeping
A radiant pearl of greatest price.

Like amber-tinted clouds of May