VERSES FROM THE FIRING LINE.

Following is a little poem from the Western battlefront which Mrs. Henry Climo has just received from her son, Gunner Victor Climo, and which we know will be read with much interest:

May 2nd, 1917.

Somewhere in France, dear mother,
I'm writing this to you,
To tell you that no other,
To me has been so true.

Your loving letters cheer me,
And I think of you each day,
As I try to do my duty,
For you so far away.

We're having better weather
Than we've had for many days,
And we all will work together
Till the Hun gives up and pays

For the suffering and sadness
He has caused in many lands;
And we hope to restore gladness
Over Europe's blood-stained sands.

Our boys have won much glory
And the honors are not few,
But have you heard the story
Of the lads who've paid their due?

They did not stop a minute,
To argue with the call,
But hastened to the battle,
To swell the British wall.

Now raise your hopes, dear mother,
The fight will soon be o'er,
And we'll return to Canada
To stay for evermore.