FROM jREAT WAR EDNA D.JONES Book.. Ji . Copyright N". CO£miGRT DEPOSm PATRIOTIC PIECES FROM THE GREAT WAR COMPILED BY EDNA D. JONES THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 1918 "T^/y f-s -^ f-/ COPYRIGHT 19 18 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY CCT3! 19/8 Patriotic Pieces Prom the Great War ©GLA508003 CONTENTS PAGE A PRAYER IN KHAKI .... Robert Garland 7 ^^OLDIERS OF FREEDOM . . Katherine Lee Bates 8 MY SAILOR BOY .... Viola Brothers Shore 9 THE QUARTERMASTER CORPS . . . Sergeant Wm. C, Pryor, Q. M. C, 10 IT IS WELL WITH THE CHILD . A^rs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer 12 ^THE president's MESSAGE TO THE NATIONAL ARMY 14 THE WORKERS Douglas Malloch 15 BELLS OF FLANDERS . . . Dominique Bonnaud 17 JTHE DRUMS Grif Alexander 19 FOR FRANCE .... Florence Earle Coates 22 NEXT YEAR Margaret Widd enter 23 THEN GIVE us WINGS . - . . Anthony Euwer 24 /.IN FLANDERS FIELDS . . Lt.-Col. John McCrae 27 THE SERVICE FLAG . . . William Herschell 28 peace with a SWORD . . Abbie Farwell Brown 30 SQUARING OURSELVES . . . James Montague 32 the wounded soldier in THE CONVENT . Frangois Coppee 34 HARVEST IN FLANDERS . . . Louise DrtSColl 36 HAY FEVER 38 IN SAN FRANCISCO .... Bemadine Hilty 40 CONTENTS PAGB /-OUR YOUTH .... Arthur Hobson Quinn 44 THE UNFURLING OF THE FLAG Clara Endicott Sears 46 MARCHING FORTH TO WAR 48 THE SPIRIT OF '17 . . . Mary Herrick Smith 50 IN WARTIME . . Mrs, Schuyler Van Rensselaer 55 THE MISCREANT . . . Dr. Felix E, Schelling 56 THE LITTLE ONE-STAR FLAG . . Damon Runyon 59 RISE up! RISE UP, crusaders! Edward Van Zile 61 JUST THINKING .... Hudson Hawley 64 THE stars .... Agnes McConnell Sligh 66 MY SON Dr. James D. Hughes 67 salutatory . . . Angele Maraval-Berthoin 70 ONLY A VOLUNTEER, Corporal Richard D. Irwin 72 THE SAILOR-MAN . . . M. A. DeWolf Howe 73 THE COST .... Ethel Lloyd Patterson 75 THE EYES OF WAR Chart Pitt 78 FILE THREE 79 THE SOLDIER .... Christopher Morley 80 u^ OUR GIFT Caroline Ticknor 8 1 ASLEEP BY THE IRISH SEA Elizabeth Glendenning Ring 82 COLUMBIA COMES . . Thomas Meek Butler 83 A nation's prayer FOR STRENGTH TO SERVE . 84 OLD GLORY George B. Hynson 87 SCREENS ........ W. M. Letts 88 EFFICIENCY .... Dr. Felix E. Schelling 89 SEVEN days' leave . . . Captain Blackall 92 -^.,THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER — ^WITH VARIATIONS 93 ON TO victory! .... Theodore Roosevelt 95 CONTENTS PAGE MIZPAH Gertrude Stewart 98 THE FLAG Dr. Felix E. Schelling lOO " HONEY '* DRAWS THE LINE lOI MARY Irene McLeod 102 PRESIDENT Wilson's flag day address . . .106 THE BELGIAN FLAG ....£. Cammaerts no fly A CLEAN FLAG .... Edgar A. Guest 112 THE OLD ROAD TO PARADISE, TW^r^^r^f Widdemer 114 as THEY LEAVE us . . Florence Earle Coates 1 16 " WE ARE OF ONE BLOOD," . Rev. C. L. Mclrvine 118 iTHE TRUMPET CALL . . . Caroline Ticknor I2I THE MAN WHO CAN FIGHT AND SMILE . Norma Bright Carson 124 MAKERS OF THE FLAG . . . Franklin K. Lane 125 FATHER AND SON . . . Calvin Dill Wilson 129 THE PARADE Minna Irving 132 THE NIGHTINGALES OF FLANDERS . . . . Grace Hazard Conkling 133 TO FRANCE Edwin Curran 134 LANGEMARCK AT YPRES . . Wilfred Campbell 136 WHAT rs PATRIOTISM ? . . . Agnes ReppUer 141 THE WRIST WATCH MAN . . Edgar A. Guest 146 D SPEED OUR SOLDIERS , George Frederic Viett 148 ORGET IT, SOLDIER ! C. F. R. I^g LA BASSEE ROAD Patrick MacGill 15 1 THE NEW BANNER .... Katrina Trask 153 THE COMB BAND Berton Braley 155 TO THE GLORY OF THE NEEDLE I57 FIRST U. S. SOLDIER DEAD BURIED IN FRANCE . .159 THE HUN WITH THE GUN . . Will P. Snyder 161 OUT OF FLANDERS . . . James Norman HqU 162 CONTENTS PAGE NO man's land J, Knight-Ad kin 165 IN SERVICE J. E. Evans 167 THE AMERICAN .... Hawthome Daniel 169 CONSOLATION 1 77 OFF DUTY Patrick MacGill 179 LITTLE MOTHER . . . Everard Jack Appleton 18 1 THE MOTHER ON THE SIDEWALK, Edgar A. Guest 1 83 SINCE YOU WENT AWAY . . . AlHson Brown 185 MARCHING AWAY .... Emma A. E. Lente 187 THE PRAYER .... Amelia Josephine Burr 189 ON ACTIVE SERVICE . . . Patrick MacGill 192 THE AMERICANS COME ! . Elizabeth A. Wilbur 194 TO A CANADIAN AVIATOR WHO DIED FOR HIS COUNTRY IN FRANCE, Ducan Campbell Scott 195 ..AMERICA GOES IN SINGING 197 THE KID HAS GONE TO THE COLORS .... William Herschell 200 RHEIMS .... Margaret Steele Anderson 202 MATEY Patrick MacGill 205 THE OHIO MEN Edwin Curran 206 A CAROL FROM FLANDERS . . Frederick Niven 208 THE RIDERS Herman Hagedorn 210 THE CONVERSATION BOOK 214 THE soldier's MOTHER 2l6 IN PRAISE OF RIGHTEOUS WAR . Walter M alone 218 YOUR LAD AND MY LAD . . Randall Parrish 221 BOTH WORSHIPPED THE SAME GREAT NAME . . 223 PATRIOTIC PIECES FROM THE GREAT WAR A PRAYER IN KHAKI Permission of The Outlook Company, New York City OLORD, my God, accept my prayer of thanks That Thou hast placed me humbly in the ranks Where I can do my part, all unafraid — A simple soldier in Thy great crusade. I pray thee, Lord, let others take command; Enough for me, a rifle in my hand, Thy blood-red banner ever leading me Where I can fight for liberty and Thee. Give others, God, the glory; mine the right To stand beside my comrades in the fight, To die, if need be, in some foreign land — Absolved and solaced by a soldier's hand. O Lord, my God, pray barken to my prayer And keep me ever humble, keep me where The fight is thickest, where, 'midst steel and flame. Thy sons give battle, calling on Thy name. — Robert Garland 7 PATRIOTIC PIECES SOLDIERS OF FREEDOM By permission of the author They veiled their souls with laughter And many a mocking pose, These lads who follow after Wherever Freedom goes; These lads we used to censure For levity and ease On Freedom's high adventure Go shining overseas. Our springing tears adore them These boys at school and play, Fair-fortuned years before them, Alas ! but yesterday. Divine with sudden splendor — Oh how our eyes were blind! — In careless self-surrender They battle for mankind. Soldiers of Freedom! Gleaming And golden they depart, Transfigured by the dreaming Of boyhood's hidden heart. Her lovers they confess them And, rushing on her foes, Toss her their youth — God bless them ! - As lightly as a rose. — Katharine Lee Bates FROM THE GREAT WAR 9 MY SAILOR BOY Used by permission of the author I did not ask for strength to let him go (Although he seemed so young — still but a child) ; I did not pray for courage — God, you know — When down the silver street, blue clad, they filed. More than my life went with them through the snow, And yet, dear God — - you saw — I smiled — I smiled. But oh ! how shall I pass each day his door Where still the shadow of his presence lin- gers? How touch the things he loved to touch, Still warm and vibrant from his dear brown fingers? How tread the silent floors his glad feet trod, Day after day — unless you help me — God ! — Viola Brothers Shore lo PATRIOTIC PIECES THE QUARTERMASTER CORPS The Quartermaster Corps Is a non-combatin' crowd, An' it isn't much excitin^ Fer th' man who likes it loud; But it's got its own hard work t' do, An' they'd all be on th' floor If it wasn't for the non-combatin' Quartermaster Corps. The Quartermaster Corps Sheds no glory or renown, But it's got the grub that keeps you Comin' back when you are down; An' the Infantree an' Cavalree Would all be on the floor If it wasn't fer the non-combatin' Quartermaster Corps. The Quartermaster Corps Is ol' Jimmy-on-the-Spot When it comes to gettin' chow To th' line where things are hot; Why, the boys up in the trenches Would all be on the floor If it wasn't fer the non-combatin' Quartermaster Corps. FROM THE GREAT WAR ii The Quartermaster Corps Don't use bayonets or guns, But they do a mighty lot o' work To help clean up th' Huns ; So here's something to remember — You might all be on the floor If it wasn't fer the non-combatin' Quartermaster Corps! — William C. Pryor, Sgt., Q.M.C. 12 PATRIOTIC PIECES IT IS WELL WITH THE CHILD By permission of the author and the publishers, the Atlantic Monthly Company, Boston The word has come — On the field of battle, dead. Sorrow is mine but there is no more dread. I am his mother. See, I do not say, * I was; ' he is, not was, my son. Today He rests, is safe, is well; he is at ease From pain, cold, thirst, and fever of disease, And horror of red tasks undone or done. Now he has dropped the load he bore, my son, And now my heart is lightened of all fears, Sorrow is mine and streams of lonely tears. But not too heavy for the carrying is The burden that is only mine, not his. At eventide I may lay down my head, Not wondering upon what dreadful bed Perchance — nay, all but certainly — he lies; And with the morn I may in turn arise. Glad of the light, of sleep, of food, now he Is where sweet waters and green meadows be And golden apples. How it was he died I know not, but my heart is satisfied : Never again of all my days shall one Bring anguish for the anguish of my son. FROM THE GREAT WAR 13 Sorrow is mine but there is no more dread. The word has come — On the field of battle, dead. — Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer 14 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE PRESIDENT'S MESSAGE TO THE NATIONAL ARMY Washington, D. C, September 3, 1917 To the Soldiers of the National Army : You are undertaking a great duty. The heart of the whole country Is with you. Everything that you do will be watched with the deepest Interest and with the deepest solici- tude, not only by those who are near and dear to you, but by the whole nation besides. For this great war draws us all together, makes us all comrades and brothers, as all true Ameri- cans felt themselves to be when we first made good our national Independence. The eyes of all the world will be upon you, because you are In some special sense the soldiers of freedom. Let It be your pride, therefore, to show all men everywhere not only what good soldiers you are, but also what good men you are, keeping yourselves fit and straight in everything and pure and clean through and through. Let us set for ourselves a standard so high that It will be a glory to live up to, and then let us live up to It and add a new laurel to the crown of America. My affectionate confidence goes with you in every battle, and every test. God keep and guide you ! _ Woodrow Wilson FROM THE GREAT WAR 15 THE WORKERS By permission of the author We laid the keel of the ship that sails the waters of peace or war. We built her strong for the strongest gales, and big for the load she bore ! We made the ship and we made her great with the things that we put inside — We made the ship and we made the freight, the seas of the world to ride ! If a ship of war, then we made her guns — if a ship of trade, her wares! She's built of the bone of the working ones, and the blood of her flag is theirs ! Sailor or soldier or citizen she will carry across the main — She's made of the muscle of working men, and born of the worker's brain. The load of her deck, the grain of her hold, whatever her cargo be. Food or clothing or goods or gold, whatever she takes to sea. The sower's arm or the toiler's toil made ready the thing to go — The shop's machine or the farmer's soil or the forge's lusty blow! 1 6 PATRIOTIC PIECES The birds of the sea must nest on land, on the land the birds are born; They must take their stores from the toiler's hand, they must take their wheat and corn; For they who sail are a mighty race, and serv- ing a mighty need — But he who stands in the Worker's place is serv- ing the world indeed! — Douglas Malloch FROM THE GREAT WAR 17 BELLS OF FLANDERS Sunday It is In Flanders, And, blue as flax, the sky O'er plain and windmill stretches Its peaceful canopy. The bells, high in the belfries. Are singing blithe and gay. The overflowing gladness Of coming Holiday. Ring out ! Ring on ! Ring loudly The merry Flemish peal ! But suddenly there rises To heaven a cry of fear — Quick ! To the belfry, quickly I The ravenous horde is here. See them ! the crows and vultures. Sowers of dire alarms; Oh ! bells, from out your steeples Fling forth your call to arms ! Ring out ! Ring on ! Ring madly The valiant Flemish peal 1 The fell sword of the troopers — Brief triumph shall they know — Upon your soil ancestral E'en now your sons lay low I 1 8 PATRIOTIC PIECES But to the ruthless victor Your freedom dear you sell, Proud, dauntless, little nation, Whom only numbers quell I Ring out ! Ring on ! Ring sadly The noble Flemish peal I But see ! in the dark heavens The dawn of justice light ! There to the dim horizon The brutal horde takes flight. The radiant day of glory Day of revenge is here, Oh ! bells, proclaim your triumph With music loud and clear ! Ring out ! Ring on ! Ring proudly The free-born Flemish peal. — From the French of Dominique Bonnaud FROM THE GREAT WAR 19 THE DRUMS Permission of the Evening Bulletin, Philadelphia Ere we wonder at his absence, let us tell a little truth Of the healthy, careless fellow who epito- mizes Youth. We will miss him from the gridiron when the foot ball season comes For he left his spirit moving to the music of the drums; For he knows that all the knowledge He can make his own at college Will not compensate him wholly for the absence of the drums; For the rat-tat-tat of drums ! You will miss him from the diamond, the links and tennis court, Miss the sport. He's been summoned by the drums ! By the thrilhng call of bugles, by the echoing report Of a cannon fired by Rumor where grim Death is doing sums; Doing sums with grim precision — Hell's subtraction and division — With an abacus of drums; Not the tiny kettle drums ; Not the snare, or tenor drums; L. 20 PATRIOTIC PIECES But the drum fire of the cannon that perpetually strums With insistent shot and shell On the tympanum of Hell. But there's music in the drums 1 There is magic in the drums ! There is music, there is magic, There is fascination tragic In the drums I For the drums are telling patriots of wrongs that must be righted; The drums are droning dirges of the lives the Hun has blighted; Of the blood that he has spilled; Of the babies he has killed; Of the retribution awful that a righteous Lord , has willed. *' Boy, we need you ! " Cry the drums. ** Though we bleed you,'' Cry the drums. " Free the world as we have freed you!" Cry the drums. I " Boy, you're wanted ! " Cry the drums! ' And, undaunted Here he comes! FROM THE GREAT WAR 21 Hail Columbia's sons are marching! Rich and poor alike are chums ! They've been welded fast together by the magic of the drums ! By the drums ! By the rat-tat-tat Of drums! By the fiat flat Of drums ! By the glory that's surrounding Every deed of dogged pounding! Of the roll of honor sounding! Of the drums ! — Grif Alexander 22 PATRIOTIC PIECES FOR FRANCE Permission of the author She had been stricken, sorely, ere this came; And now they wrote that he, her boy, was dead — Her only one ! Through blinding tears she read. Trying to see what followed his dear name. He had died " gloriously," the letter said, " Guarding the Tricolor from touch of shame Where raged the battle furious and wild." Catching her breath, she stayed despair's ad- vance. She was a mother; but, besides — a child Of France ! And after, though remembrance of past years Dulled not to her fond vision nor grew dim; Though every slightest incident of him Was treasured in her breast, she shed no tears. Her cup was full now, even to the brim, And for herself she knew nor hopes nor fears. So, toiling patiently, with noble pride And lifted head she met each pitying glance, She was the mother of a son who died — For France ! — Florence Earle Coates FROM THE GREAT WAR 23 NEXT YEAR Permission of Everybody's Magazine, New York Up and down the street I know, Now that there is Grief and War All day long the people go As they went before ; But when now the lads go by — Careless look and careless glance — My heart wonders — " Which shall be Still next year in France? " When the girls go fluttering — Flushing cheek and tossing head — My heart says " Next year shall bring Which a lover dead? " Lord, let Peace be kind and fleet — Put an end to Grief and War; Let them walk the little street Careless as before 1 — Margaret Widdemer 24 PATRIOTIC PIECES THEN GIVE US WINGS If wings will help our men to see Some Boche's belching battery, Unloosing from a screen of trees Its screeching death upon the breeze — Or help our giant guns to search With truer aim each hidden perch Of Teuton guns, and make them meek, Ere they again may chance to speak — If wings, O God, will do these things, Then give us wings. If great, destroying wings might stay Munitions in their hurried way. Or hold a reenforcement back By dropping ruin on its track. Or yet set free the pent-up hell Of depots filled with shot and shell. Or swiftly give eternal sleep To ships that prowl the nether deep — If wings, O God, will do these things, Then give us wings and still more wings. If fast, avenging wings might cast On German cities such a blast Of desolating death and pain FROM THE GREAT WAR 25 As fell again and still again On England's homes — and thus awake The heart of pity — and so make An end to killing mothers, wives, And maiming helpless infant lives — If wings, O God, will do these things. Then give us wings, and wings and wings And still more wings. If dauntless, daring wings that dash O'er No-Man's Land, with shot and crash, Might beat back wings that would assail Advancing armies with their hail — If dauntless wings like these that ride O'er No-Man's Land, might turn the tide Of great offensive — bring about Allied success and Teuton rout — If wings, O God, will do these things, Then give us wings and wings and wings Devouring wings that cleave and soar. And yet more wings and more and more I If multitudes of wings might rise To blind aggression's lustful eyes, And render powerless every stroke That seeks to force the tyrant's yoke — If multitudes of wings might give 26 PATRIOTIC PIECES Democracy a chance to live, And make this bloody carnage cease, And bring to earth a lasting peace — If wings, O God, will do these things. Then give us wings, and wings and wings. And still more wings arrayed to smite Till Vict'ry come — the hosts of light Beneath the sun, whose pinions shine Beyond our farthest battle line ! — Anthony Euwer FROM THE GREAT WAR 27 IN FLANDERS FIELDS ^ Permission of the Neiv York Times In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place ; and in the sky The larks still bravely singing fly, Scarce heard amidst the guns below. We are the dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe, To you from failing hands we throw The Torch — be yours to hold it high; If ye break faith with us who die, We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. — Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae 28 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE SERVICE FLAG Permission of the author Dear little flag in the window there, Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer; Child of Old Glory, born with a star — Oh, what a wonderful flag you are I Blue Is your star in its field of white. Dipped in the red that was born of fight; Born of the blood that our forebears shed To raise your mother, The Flag, o'erhead. And now youVe come, in this frenzied day, To speak from a window — to speak and say: " I am the voice of a soldier-son Gone to be gone till the victory's won. " I am the flag of The Service, sir; The flag of his mother — I speak for her Who stands by my window and waits and fears, But hides from the others her unwept tears. *' I am the flag of the wives who wait For the safe return of a martial mate, A mate gone forth where the war god thrives To save from sacrifice other men's wives. " I am the flag of the sweethearts true; The often unthought of — the sisters, too. FROM THE GREAT WAR 29 I am the flag of a mother's son And won't come down till the victory's wonT' Dear little flag in the window there, Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer; Child of Old Glory, born with a star — Oh, what a wonderful flag you are ! — William Herschell 30 PATRIOTIC PIECES PEACE WITH A SWORD By permission of the author ^ Peace! How we love her and the good she brings On broad, benignant wings ! And we have clung to her, how close and long, While she has made us strong ! Now we must guard her lest her power cease, And in the harried world be no more peace. Even with a sword, Help us, O Lord ! For us no patient peace, the weary goal Of a war-sickened soul; No peace that battens on misfortune's pain. Swollen with selfish gain. Bending slack knees before a calf of gold, With nerveless fingers impotent to hold The freeman's sword. Not this, O Lord ! No peace bought for us by the martyr dead Of countries reeking red; No peace flung to us from a tyrant's hand. Sop to a servile land. Our Peace the State's strong arm holds high and free, *' The placid peace she seeks in liberty," FROM THE GREAT WAR 31 Yea, *' with a sword." Help us, O Lord ! O Massachusetts ! In your golden prime. Not with the bribe of time You won her; subtle words and careful ways In perilous days. No ! By your valor, by the patriot blood Of your brave sons poured in a generous flood; Peace, with a sword ! Help us, O Lord! Bring out the banners that defied a king! The tattered colors bring That made a nation one from sea to sea In godly liberty. Unsheathe the patriot sword in time of need, O Massachusetts, shouting in the lead, — " Peace with a sword ! Help us, O Lord ! " — Abbie Farwell Brown 32 PATRIOTIC PIECES SQUARING OURSELVES How many howled about Josephus every time a sailor man Found an unresponsive barkeep when he went to rush the can I How they growled about Josephus when com- manders got the news That the Admiral had orders for a dry and boozeless cruise ! Even such a wild teetotaller as the temperate T. R. Shouted from a thousand housetops that Jo- sephus went too far. From all quarters of the Nation excellent, well- meaning folk, Said in letters to the papers that Josephus was a joke. Poets chuckled (we among them) in all sorts of jibing verse When Josephus said that seamen might be brave, and still not curse. Never on the rolling ocean had men navigated ships Be the weather fine or dirty, without oaths upon their lips. Even Dr. Lyman Abbott had to pause and breathe a prayer FROM THE GREAT WAR 33 For a man who said that sailors had not simply got to swear! And there swept across the Nation, North and South and East and West The unanimous conclusion that Josephus was a jest. But when Congress started peering into things that had to do With the arming of the warship and the com- fort of the crew, When grave statesmen asked him questions as to this and as to that It was noticed that Josephus answered right straight off the bat. For his drinkless, curseless navy — every unit — thanks to him, From the dreadnoughts to the cutters, is in first- class fighting trim. Now at last the pitying jesters (we among them) see a light, For the fact has dawned upon us that Josephus is all right! — James Montague 34 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE WOUNDED SOLDIER IN THE CONVENT What is that clanging noise I hear Through the still convent ringing? It is the carriage-ambulance A wounded soldier bringing. Upon his coat the blood-spots shine ; He limps — a shell has caught him - His gun he uses for a crutch, Descending, to support him. A veteran he, with fierce moustache — The triple stripes he's wearing — All prudes and hypocrites he loathes, And starts by loudly swearing. Well-nigh Insulting are his looks, With ill-bred gibes he rallies The novices — beneath their caps They blush at his coarse sallies. If at his side, thinking he sleeps, The sister breathes a prayer. Straightway astir he fills his pipe And whistles a bored air. What use to him their faithful watch, The care that never ceases? FROM THE GREAT WAR 35 He knows his leg Is lost and done, And he'll be hacked to pieces. He's very angry — Let him be! Here no one knows impatience, There reigns an atmosphere that soothes And cows the rudest patients. Slow is the spell, but sure, that wields This band, to service given, With fingers soft they touch the wounds. And softly speak of Heaven. So subtle is their pious charm. Our grumbler soon will see it In his own way — and to each prayer Make the response, " So be it! " — Francois Coppee 36 PATRIOTIC PIECES HARVEST IN FLANDERS In Flanders* fields the crosses stand — Strange harvest for a fertile land! Where once the wheat and barley grew, With scarlet poppies running through. This year the poppies bloom to greet Not oats nor barley nor white wheat, But only crosses, row by row, Where stalwart reapers used to go. In Flanders' fields no women sing, As once they sang, at harvesting; No men now come with scythes to mow The little crosses, row by row. The poppies wonder why the men And women do not come again ! In Flanders, at the wind's footfall, The crosses do not bend at all. As wheat and barley used to do Whenever wind went running through. The poppies wonder when they see The crosses stand so rigidly ! O God, to whom all men must bring What they have done for reckoning, At harvest-time what byre or bin Have you to put these crosses in? FROM THE GREAT WAR 37 What word for men who marched to sow Not wheat, but crosses, row by row? Alas ! Our tears can never bring The men who came here harvesting And come no more! We do not know What way the singing w^omen go, Their songs all still ! But crosses stand Row after row in Flanders land! — Louise Driscoll 38 PATRIOTIC PIECES HAY FEVER I do not wish the Kaiser ill, I wish him nothing that would kill, No bombs with neatness and dispatch To wipe him from life's kaffe klatch; No dagger thrust between his ribs, That would destroy His Royal Nibs; I would not have him swiftly die, That's much too good for such a guy; I only wish the Kaiser might Hay Fever get and get it right ! I wish the Kaiser's royal nose Might know the woes my poor nose knows ; I only wish his royal chest Might always feel a sore distress. As mine must feel until the day October's frost shall come our way. I wish the royal piece of cheese Might be forever doomed to sneeze. Death is too good for such a king. Hay fever would be just the thing. A pair of watery eyes and red. An aching throat and fevered lips; And then a nose that constant drips. The wish for sleep, but all in vain; To end one cough to cough again, FROM THE GREAT WAR 39 All these are parcel of the wish I cherish for that royal fish, If I could work my will sublime, He'd suffer till the end of time. I'd never let the Kaiser die. Although for death he'd often cry, For punishment for all he's done, His nose it would forever run, — A million years on earth he'd stay And sneeze a million times a day. Sweet sleep would never find his bed, All night alone the floor he'd tread, Death is too good for such a king, Hay fever would be just the thing ! — Anonymous 40 PATRIOTIC PIECES IN SAN FRANCISCO Permission of the author Aw, gee, I wisht them oV fog-horns would stop blowin'. Sounds just like some one moanin'; an' gosh, I feel blue enough to-night without them howlin' around down there. I ain't never been no Jane for showin' feelin's. I've always had the sand to buck It off. But aw, to-night I'm wopped between the lamps. I got to git this off my chest — It's jlst bustin' me. Don't get me wrong. I ain't no weak mouth; but I ain't got no mother, never had no father, ain't got nobody to spill to — But he left to-night — had to beat It to France or somewhere wid de army. Course I knowed he was billed to go sometime, but ain't It funny you don't seem to feel it In your bones that they are sure goln' till — bang I They're gone. To-night Sam came steppin' up. That's his name — Sam. Gosh, I just love that name. Well, Sam comes up. Gee! you ought to see Sam; he Is the grandest lookin' guy you ever lamped — all shoulders an' no waist. Say, all the skirts on de coast wuz crazy for him, an' gosh, he grabs me an' sticks. Well, Sam he comes up an' says, " Honey kid, I's got some headlines in big print. To- FROM THE GREAT WAR 41 morrow we are off for de big fight. We've bin called into service." "Aw, Sam — Sam honey, to-morrow?" I says. Then I felt myself kinda slippin', so I put on the brakes. I ain't no sob artist like them swell dames up the drag. It's a bunch of nerve an' grit I's got. We set down an' chewed the rag about things; then he sed: " Honey kid, I guess there ain't much chanst of me gittin' back; this ain't no joy ride we're goin' on. We're goin' to lick them Germans, an' we ain't comin' back till we do. I ain't never had no yellow streak, so I'm there to the last ditch. " Now, listen, darlin'. I want you to promise Sam somethin'. You ain't like the roughnecks around here. Now, kid, don't go sinkin' down wid them. Gosh, when I'm gone they ain't goin' to be nobody to look after you, honey, so you gotta buck in an' do it yerself. 'Tain't gonna be no soft job. This ain't no ladies' seminary round here, an' there's always a lot of rough guys hornin' in. You jist hang onto that grit of yours, an' you'll be there a million. Maybe the ol' luck will fasten on me an' I'll get back all together." Gosh! I couldn't hang on any longer, so I turned her loose. I jist bawled like a brat. 42 PATRIOTIC PIECES I tried to laugh an' tell him I'd be all to the hunky when he wuz away, but I didn't git along very well through the waterfall. Purty soon Sam slid down offa the couch on his knees by me, wid his head in my lap. His big shoulders were jist shakin', an' he said: " May, darlin', when I'm gone, I wisht at night, before yer go to yer pallet, you would try an' say a little prayer fer me. Will you, baby? You've been all the happiness an' sun- shine I've ever had." An' I says: " Sam, I ain't never heard no swell prayers, an' I don't know the real way they do it; but If God will listen to me say it my own way, without no frills or fancy kneelln', oh gosh, Sam, I'll beg Him to take care of yer, darhn'." Then I pulled him up, an' I sat on his lap. We tried to kid a little — you know, when your heart Is achin', you try to act it ain't at all. Purty soon I thought of somethin'. On my finger I had a ring — no sets or glass : jist a big ring wId a lot of carvln's on It. It wuz my mother's — I ain't never had It off, hungry or no hungry. But I took It oft my mit, an' slipped It on Sam's little finger, an' sed: " Sam darlin', I want you to wear this H'l ring of mine; an' at night, when yer down in them trenches in * No Man's Land,' an' you're feelin' FROM THE GREAT WAR 43 purty lonesome, just touch this li'l ring, an' you will know I am wid you, kid, lovin' you an' thinkin' about my Sam." He kissed the li'l ring — gosh ! it wuz regu- lar Francis X. an' Mary Pickford stuff; only dis wuz the real thing; we wuz jist about breakin' our hearts in that li'l sketch. Then Sam looked at the Big Ben an' sed, " Gosh, I gotta be goin', honey." We walked over to the door. He put his arms around me, not sayin' a word, an' kissed me jest as silent, then quick he turns an' says: " So long, honey," an' wuz gone. I stood an' watched him; but this ramble- shackle palace ain't set in grounds, so I could only see him goin' down the hall. I ain't much fer size — never weighed a hundred in my life: jist a li'l rat, — but I've got to stick out my chest an' buck up. But be- fore I git so fresh wid myself I'm goin' to have a good ol' bawl all to myself, an' I'm not goin' to leave none fer to-morrow. I'm gonna go down to de water early in de mornin', an' I might lamp 'em when they're sailin' away. None of de gang has never saw me bawl yet, an' they ain't agoin' to now. Gosh ! I wisht them ol' fog-horns would stop blowin' : they'd make any guy shaky. — Bernadine Hilty 44 PATRIOTIC PIECES OUR YOUTH Permission of the author Once more, once more Into the fire they go, With their dreamed and their undreamed deeds of the coming years Put to the chance of a shell or a bayonet's blow — With a smile in their eyes made bright by a touch of tears, And a laugh on their lips they have gone to meet our foe ! Once more the flag that they love floats proudly on ahead Which never on land or sea has known de- feat And the voices that rise from the unforgotten dead Sing the great song that lifts at the marching feet. That it ever has flung its folds where Freedom led I To-day they fight for a freedom newly born, For the earth is weary of kings and the spawn of kings. And out of the throes of a world with anguish torn FROM THE GREAT WAR 45 Shall rise a peace no glory of conquest brings, Like the peace that came to the earth on Christmas morn. For this they fight and not for an inch of land Or the dollars wrung from a foe by the cards of state ! Thank God he has placed at our helm a stead- fast hand And an eye that can look unmoved on the face of Fate And a will that can dare and a heart that can understand! He has sent our best to the world's last great crusade, They shall not come back till the world at last is free ! For the Old World calls to the New, and, un- afraid. Our youth go forth to their fame and their agony, For God will judge in the end, and His price be paid! — Arthur Hobson Quinn 46 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE UNFURLING OF THE FLAG Permission of the author There's a streak across the sky line That Is gleaming in the sun, Watchers from the light-house towers Signaled it to foreign Powers Just as daylight had begun, Message thrilling, Hopes fulfilling To those fighting o'er the seas. " It's the flag we've named Old Glory That's unfurling to the breeze." Can you see the flashing emblem Of our Country's high ideal? Keep your lifted eyes upon it And draw joy and courage from it, For it stands for what is real. Freedom's calling To the falling From oppression's hard decrees. It's the flag we've named Old Glory You see floating in the breeze. Glorious flag we raise so proudly, Stars and stripes, red, white and blue, You have been the inspiration Of an ever-growing nation FROM THE GREAT WAR 47 Such as this world never knew. Peace and Justice, Freedom, Progress, Are the blessings we can seize When the flag we call Old Glory Is unfurling to the breeze. When the cry of battling nations Reaches us across the space Of the wild tumultuous ocean, Hearts are stirred with deep emotion For the saving of the race ! Peace foregoing. Aid bestowing. Bugles blowing. First we drop on bended knees. Then with shouts our Grand Old Glory We set flaunting to the breeze ! — Clara Endicott Sears 48 PATRIOTIC PIECES MARCHING FORTH TO WAR Permission of the Chicago Examiner, Chicago It was grand to be a soldier and go swinging down the street With a crowd of cheering children throwing flowers at your feet, While the girls along the sidewalk waved to you a fond good-by, And the prettiest of them, maybe, had a tear drop in her eye. Bands were playing, flags were waving, when the army marched away, It was glorious and thrilling, but it's pretty grim to-day. Down the streets you file at midnight, not a soul to see or hear. Not a strain of martial music, not a flutter not a cheer. No one there to breathe a blessing on the cause you go to fight. Or to wish you all the glory of a battle for the right. Gloom and silence all around you, gloom and silence on before. Ah! it sure does take a hero thus to march away to war. FROM THE GREAT WAR 49 It was fine to be a soldier, when the ship sailed down the bay, And the shores were filled with people come to watch you sail away. How the whistles shrieked and shouted on the boats that passed you by. How the echoing farewell salvos rose until they reached the sky. How you thought of deeds of valor as you watched the vessel's bow Cut the waves that tumbled seaward. Ah I It's grimmer business now. In the darkness of the morning, just before the break of dawn, On the silent decks you huddle as the vessel hurries on. One by one you see the fading of the lights along the shore, And you hear the swash and rustle of the water, nothing more. Like an exile you must stand there and look out across the foam. Ah! it takes a heart of iron thus to sail away from home. so PATRIOTIC PIECES THE SPIRIT OF '17 Used by permission of the Atlantic Monthly, Boston En route from Fort Ethan Allen, Vermont, to Detroit, whither my husband was ordered to join his base hospital, we were delayed in Ithaca, New York. While waiting in the hotel lounge, I chanced to overhear an interesting conversation. I had noticed a fine-looking man near me, reading the morning paper: he was distinctly the very prosperous city business man, his well- kempt appearance bespoke culture, money, and intelligence. While I was occupied with my speculations about him, a young man, just a boy, in fact, came in. He was a well-set-up chap, with the fresh healthy skin and clear-eyed eagerness of a country lad. He had never been far from the up-country farm where they raised the best breeds of livestock. He couldn't have given a college yell to save his life, and he was innocent of fraternity decorations and secrets. Just the kind of boy I would like to have call me " mother." His clothes were good, but evidently from the general store of the small town. He carried a good-sized box, which he put across his knees as he seated himself. I knew that it was his luncheon which mother had packed, and that it included fried chicken FROM THE GREAT WAR 51 and cold home-made sausage, cakes, sand- wiches, fried cakes, crullers, mince pie and cheese, apples and winter pears; and a few relishes besides. Why, I could smell the luncheon that my mother had put up for my brother forty years ago. The Boy gazed all around, took in each de- tail of the room and its furnishings, with all the quiet dignity and interest of a well-born American country youth. You know a real Yankee country boy isn't like any other; there is a balance, an understanding, that is natural. It is inborn to be at home in any surrounding, however new and strange, so long as it is real. After the Boy had surveyed the room, he looked over at the man reading. He sat per- fectly still a few minutes, then " Oh hummed," and waited again, and fidgeted a bit; but no- body spoke. I could see that he was fairly bursting with news of something. Finally, to the man, " Can you tell me how far it is to Syracuse, sir? " "Well," — lowering his paper, — "not ex- actly, but three or four hours, I'd say. Going to Syracuse? " " Yes, I've enlisted. I passed one examina- tion, but I'm going to Syracuse for another and then I'm going to Spartansburg. Senator Wadsworth says, and it looks that way to me, 52 PATRIOTIC PIECES that It Is just as much our fight as theirs, and we ought to have been In It three years ago; they are getting tired over there. I'd hate to be drafted. I'd feel mean to think I had to be dragged In; besides I want to do my part. Every fellow ought to get Into It." " What part of the service did you elect? " *' The Infantry, sir. I'm going to Spartans- burg to the tralnlng-camp." Silence for some moments; then, showing that his bridges were burned, "I've sold my clothes; sold 'em for four dollars and I'm to send 'em right back Boon's I get my uniform. I hope I don't have to wait for the soldier clothes. I think I got a good bargain and so did the fellow I sold 'em to. I thought I wouldn't need 'em while I was In the army, and when I got back they'd be all out of style ; and then — I may never come back." A ripple of seriousness passed over his boyish face. '' But It was a good chance and I took it. Have you a son, sir?" ** Yes, I have a son just eighteen, at Cornell. He expects to go next year If they need him in the aviation." " I'm just nineteen. I thought I'd better en- list. It's just possible they might draft 'em later, and I just couldn't stand it to be drafted. Do you think I'll be able to go home for Thanksgiving? " he asked eagerly. FROM THE GREAT WAR 53 " I wouldn't think quite so soon. You'll hardly get there by that time." " Well, I think I can go home for Christmas, don't you?" And a shade of anxiety crept into his tone. " I live up the road here a way, — Wellsville, you know, about forty miles. Don't you think I'll get to Syracuse to-night if I go right on? I'd like to get through so I could be ready for work to-morrow morning. I don't want to waste any time now that I'm all ready." The Boy settled back with a look of forced patience, and the man held up his paper again; but I could see that he was not reading, and there was a look of suffused sadness in his face. The Boy had taken from his pocket a pair of big, dark-blue, home-knitted mittens ; on the palms was sewn red woolen to reenforce them. He carefully drew them on, folded his hands, thumbs up, on his luncheon-box, edged to the front of his chair, and sat thinking with eyes fixed on the far-away places of his dream. He was going over it all again; there was no haste, no excitement, no foolish sentiment, but sure determination and the courage of youth sud- denly turned to manhood. With a little start he came back to the present, and, rising, said, " I guess I'd better be going. You said I could get a train in about half an hour? " 54 PATRIOTIC PIECES " Before you go, will you tell me, my boy, why you chose the Infantry? " *' Well, when you read of anything real hard that has to be done you will notice that it is always the infantry that does it. They have to be strong, young fellows they can depend on for the real hard things. So I chose the in- fantry, sir." There was a silence, which he broke with the quiet words, " I think I'll be going. Good-by, sir." Springing from his chair, the man grasped the boy's hand. " God bless you, son, and good luck! " With misty vision we both stood and watched him out of sight; then, with all previous convention of acquaintance forgotten as we looked into each other's eyes, the man said, ^' It is the spirit of '17 gone to the colors." — Mary Herrick Smith FROM THE GREAT WAR SS IN WARTIME By permission of the author Long years I longed for them, for the young faces, The golden hearts, that other women fold Securely in their hands' and hearts' em- braces — I, empty-hearted with no hand to hold. But now, but now — surely I am the one Who sleeps in peace knowing she hath no son. The summoning flag unfurled has stilled the aching I lived with many years ; the drum, the fife, Bid me be glad that for their pitiless taking I have no treasure of young golden life. And yet, and yet — last night I lay awake, I had no peace for other women's sake. The flying flag shows dimly through their weep- ing, But in their voices sounds the bugle's voice. While I, with no young gold for gift or keep- ing, Sit by my empty coffers and rejoice. . . . Not so, not so — to-night I am the one Who cannot sleep for that she gives no son. — Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer S6 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE MISCREANT By permission of the author It was a slender Belgian lad, A child to make a father glad, Negligent, he stood beside The highway, stretching white and wide; Thence had come but yesterday The Uhlans riding on their way; And now was heard, in steady beat, A rising sound of marching feet. They came, a mass of gray pulsating. Steady-moving, palpitating. On with unrelenting tread: Spiked the helmet on each head, Straight each gun, each eye, each stride. Each belt, each knapsack coincide, A bayonet rattled at each side. The word rang, " Halt," and at the sound The rifle butts thud on the ground. " Come here, my boy," the Captain cried, " Last night, a certain Belgian died; And why, would'st know? that Belgian lied. Now, tell me, thou, and tell me true — Lest such a fate befall thee, too — Look squarely at me, hold thee still : Lie Belgian troops on yonder hill? " The boy nor flinched nor caught his breath, FROM THE GREAT IV AR 57 He knew a glorious lie meant death, But looked the Captain in the eye And said, " Nay, none are there, or nigh.'* The conclusion of my story Comes from a letter amatory. Which one Fritz, in school-boy hand, Wrote Gretchen in the Fatherland. " Wouldst believe it, Gretchen, that boy lied; The little traitor ! he defied Our Kaiser and the German race ! Dear me ! that thoughts so black and base Should harbor in so sweet a face ! " And then Fritz told in close detail, With many an expletive and wail, How his company was mauled By Belgian guns. What else he scrawled, I spare the reader, both his fight And courtship. He concludes : " That night We stood that boy against a wall, — It was a church, as I recall. He would not let us bind his eyes Or tie his hands. We looked for cries, For tears and pleadings for reprieve; But not a word said he, save ' Vive La Belgique ! ' Now could mind conceive 58 PATRIOTIC PIECES Act more un-German! Could one believe Such guilt to Kaiser and to God I 'Twas I, dear, led the shooting squad. We fired — we all are steady-eyed — And so the little miscreant died." Thus wrote Fritz, in school-boy hand. To Gretchen in the Fatherland. If such be miscreants, what would I, Or thou do, so to live, so die? As for Fritz, there is no pother; That precious piece of " cannon-fodder " Was shot while looting with red hand: And Gretchen weeps in the Fatherland. — Dr. Felix E. Schelling FROM THE GREAT WAR 59 THE LITTLE ONE-STAR FLAG By permission of the author Oh, I used to hear the family In the house across the way — A father, and a mother, and a child. And, oh, the noise they used to make; They'd keep the neighborhood awake — I sometimes used to think they'd drive me wild I I glanced across the way the other day; It seemed too quiet over there, by far. And hanging in the window of the house across the way Is a little flag which bears a single star I There's a Service Flag in Broadway, And it flaunts two thousand stars. Oh, it swings there to the glory Of the soldiers and the tars. But no star there in its beauty Tells of stronger Love and Duty Than the little one-star flag across the way. Oh, I used to see them waiting In the house across the way — The mother, and a little girl, so sweet. And, oh, the way they used to shout; And, oh, the way they'd hurry out When they saw Daddy coming up the street. 6o PATRIOTIC PIECES Now I miss the noise they made there as they played; It seems too quiet over there by far — Oh, they're watching from the window of the house across the way By the little flag that bears a single star 1 There's a Wonder Flag in Wall Street, Flying from a dizzy height, Like a gorgeous patch of heaven That was ripped from starry night. But no star there in its beauty Tells of stronger Love and Duty Than the little one-star flag across the way! — Damon Runyon FROM THE GREAT WAR 6i RISE UP! RISE UP, CRUSADERS! By permission of the author Never In all the scarlet past Since God first placed the suns, Not when the Goths drank deep of blood, And women feared the Huns, Not when the hordes of Attila Made toys of flame and shame, Came call so clear For them to hear Who'd fight In Freedom's name. Rise up ! rise up, crusaders, to meet the hosts of Hell! They prate of Art and Science but they give us shot and shell ; They call on God, blaspheming, as they plunge their hands in gore; They've butchered millions, millions, and they'd butcher millions more. What hold they dear who dare the race To meet the might they wield? The smile upon a baby's face? The maid who would not yield? The faith that men and nations keep When sacred vows are made? Why, then, should Europe's women weep? Why preach we our crusade ? 62 PATRIOTIC PIECES Rise up ! rise up, ye stalwart, to save a world from woe ! The Hun is growing boastful. We must give him blow for blow. Where Goths and Vandals wake again From sleep that's ages long There's madness in the souls of men, And murder in their song. They are not men as men are known To human hearts alone, Their music is a woman's wail, Or dying hero's groan. They crave a world's dominion, And they come, a wanton flood, To drown the hope that God gives man In seas of human blood. Rise up! rise up, crusaders! Send forth a clarion cry ! The race shall not be slaves to Huns Though you and I must die. A world at war? A billion men who arm and fight and slay? What are our blaring bugles for? Is Man insane to-day? Not we to whom the call has come, Not we, the unafraid. Now arming, God be with us, for the last, the great Crusade; FROM THE GREAT WAR 63, Nor they who fight our fight with us, Across the surging sea, Where men are facing madmen That all peoples may be free. — Edward Van Zile 64 PATRIOTIC PIECES JUST THINKING Standin' up here on the fire-step, Lookin' ahead in the mist, With a tin hat over your ivory And a rifle clutched in your fist; Waitin' and watchin' and wond'rin' If the Hun's comin' over to-night — Say, aren't the things you think of Enough to give you a fright? Things you ain't even thought of For a couple o' months or more; Things that'll set you laughin' Things that 'ull make you sore; Things that you saw in the movies, Things that you saw on the street. Things that you're not really proud of, Things that are — not so sweet. Debts that are past collectin\ Stories you hear and forget. Ball games and birthday parties, Hours of drill in the wet; Headlines, recruitin' posters. Sunsets 'way out at sea. Evenings of pay days — Golly — It's a queer thing, this memory I FROM THE GREAT WAR 65 Faces of pals in homeburg, Voices of women folk, Verses you learnt in school days Pop up in the mist and smoke As you stand there grippin' that rifle, A-starin', and chilled to the bone, Wonderin' and wonderin' and wonderin', Just thinkin' there — all alone ! When will the war be over? When will the gang break through? What will the U. S. look like? What will there be to do? Where will the Boches be then? Who will have married Nell? When's that rehef a-comin' up? Gosh ! But this thinkin's hell ! — Hudson Hawley 66 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE STARS Can it be possible that these same stars, That smile in heavenly beneficence Upon the dewy reaches of the fields, And shadows of the quiet, sleeping woods. Shine, too, on Europe's throes of agony? Yea, even so, and God be thanked 'tis so, — On War's red death the quiet stars look down And on the trenches clear Orion beams As fair as o'er the spires of Coventry; Some lonely lad from Normandy, perchance, Or son of far America, may catch With dying eyes the twinkling Pleiades, And see in them the old sweet walks of home; Antares' gleam, Capella's golden light Speak but one tongue, need no interpreter: But more, to every doubting heart they speak. While empires rock, and earth and air and sea Drink heedlessly the priceless blood of youth, — God still His watch must keep; the stars still shine 1 — Agnes McConnell Sligh FROM THE GREAT WAR 67 MY SON God gave my son in trust to me; Christ died for him, and he should be A man for Christ. He is his own, And God's and man's; not mine alone. He was not mine to " give." He gave Himself that he might help to save All that a Christian should revere, All that enlightened men hold dear. " To feed the guns! " O torpid soul! Awake, and see life as a whole. When freedom, honor, justice, right, Were threatened by the despot's might, With heart aflame and soul alight, He bravely went for God to fight Against base savages, whose pride The laws of God and man defiled; Who slew the mother and her child, Who maidens pure and sweet defiled. He did not go " to feed the guns," He went to save from ruthless Huns His home and country, and to be A guardian of democracy. " What if he does not come? " you say; Ah, well ! My sky would be more gray, But through the clouds the sun would shine, 68 PATRIOTIC PIECES And vital memories be mine. God's test of manhood is, I know, Not " Will he come? " but " Did he go? My son well knew that he might die, And yet he went, with purpose high, To fight for peace, and overthrow The plans of Christ's relentless foe. He dreaded not the battle-field; He went to make fierce vandals yield. If he comes not again to me I shall be sad; but not that he Went like a man — a hero true — His part unselfishly to do. My heart will feel exultant pride That for humanity he died. " Forgotten grave ! " This selfish plea Awakes no deep response in me. For, though his grave I may not see. My boy will ne'er forgotten be. My real son can never die ; 'Tis but his body that may lie In foreign land, and I shall keep Remembrance fond, forever, deep Within my heart of my true son Because of triumphs that he won. It matters not where any one May lie and sleep when work is done. FROM THE GREAT WAR 69 It matters not where some may live ; If my dear son his life must give, Hosannas I will sing for him, E'en though my eyes with tears be dim. And when the war is over, when His gallant comrades come again, I'll cheer them as they're marching by, Rejoicing that they did not die. And when his vacant place I see My heart will bound with joy that he Was mine so long — my fair young son -^ And cheer for him whose work is done. — Dr. James D. Hughes 70 PATRIOTIC PIECES SALUTATORY Our honor 'tis who stay behind — Soldiers of France's glory — To hail with strengthening words and kind The men that march the foe to find, And rout him from our hallowed soil That groans with pain of his despoil — His menace gory. Our honor 'tis to hold you dear, War-men of skill and soul; The old, the young, alike revere — Men faring forth who smile at fear. While earth itself returns with dread The echo of their martial tread Toward triumph's goal. Our honor 'tis to nurse you well — Soldiers of newer glory — To bind your wounds and soothe your brow, Who little dreamed to add as now By faith and nerve the valorous meed Of high, unselfish, mighty deed To France's story . Our honor 'tis to give our tears — Soldiers that lie at rest! FROM THE GREAT WAR 71 Smiles we give, too, and cheering glance With farewell kiss, while saddened France To men asleep in reddened fields The peace unending gently yields Of Heaven's blest. — Angele Maraval-Berthgin 72 PATRIOTIC PIECES ONLY A VOLUNTEER Permission of the author and the Independent, Kansas City- Why didn't I wait to be drafted And led to the train with a band, And put In a claim for exemption, Oh, why didn't I hold up my hand? Why didn't I wait for a banquet, Why didn't I wait for a cheer; Why didn't I wait to be drafted Instead of a volunteer? And nobody gave me a banquet, Nobody said a kind word; The puff of the engine. The grind of the wheels. Was the only good-by I heard. Then off to the camp I hustled To be trained for the next half year, And In the shuffle forgotten; I was only a volunteer. Perhaps some day In the future, When my little boy sits on my knee And asks what I did in the Great War, And his little eyes look up at me, I will have to look back into those eyes That at me so trustingly peer And tell him I wasn't drafted, I was only a volunteer. — Corporal Richard D. Irwin FROM THE GREAT WAR 73 THE SAILOR-MAN Permission of Life, New York I like the look of khaki and the cut of army wear, And the men of mettle sporting it, at home and over there; But there's something at the heart-strings that tautens when I meet A blue-clad sailor-man adrift, on shore-leave from the fleet. From flapping togs his sea-legs win some tinge of old romance That's proper to the keeper of the paths that lead to France; For what were all the soldiers worth that ever tossed a gun Without the ships and sailor-men to pit them 'gainst the Hun ! There's sunlight now and steady ground be- neath the sailor's tread, And every pleasure beckons him, and every snare is spread; Speed well this visitor, whose home 'twixt heav- ing decks is set, Whose playmates are the darkness, and the bitter cold, and wet ! 74 PATRIOTIC PIECES His comrades these; his foe is ours, the foe of law and right, The stealthy, murderous German " fish," that prowls and kills by night; And none may sink him where he swims, flout- ing God's age-built plan. None but the guardian of us all, the rolling sailor-man. His hands are often cruel cold; his heart is oftener warm. For in its depths he knows 'tis he that shields the world from harm; Because I know it too, my heart beats warmer when I meet A blue-clad sailor-man adrift, on shore-leave from the fleet. — M. A. DeWolfe Howe FROM THE GREAT WAR 75 THE COST Permission of Everybody's Magazine, New York Six o'clock when the homeward traffic of a city Is heaviest from shops and offices. The street was crowded with people who, in their rush, bumped heedlessly against each other. Some smiled. Some went with fixed faces like masks. Motor-horns and car-bells blared and clanged in a medley of impatient sound. Through It all I wove my way — a little shuttle traihng my one frail thread through the pattern of the whole. Then I heard him bawling of the wares he sold. *' Here you are!" he cried, his mouth In- credibly big and twisted. "Here you are! Buy the American colors! Red! White! Blue ! The colors that never run ! Be a patriot! Buy your little Service-pin! Here you are ! " I stopped before him. " How much are the Service-pins? " I asked. " How many stars do you want on It? " said he, plunging his hand into the bag of them strung round his neck with a strap. *' Three," I told him proudly. He held out the pin to me — a white square rimmed with red, three blue stars on Its field; 76 PATRIOTIC PIECES each star for one man of my blood who risks his life for America. " It costs fifteen cents," said he; "a nickel a star." Through a sort of haze I stared at him. "Fifteen cents!" he had said. "A nickel a star." And suddenly I seemed to see the oldest of the three : a desk-bound man with straight and pleasant lips and the comfortable ways of one who is happy among simple things. There had been no yearning for adventure, no rest- lessness. Yet how quickly he had gone just the same. Like a child, who hears a loved one calling him, he had closed his books and risen to answer — at once. One long look into steady eyes very like his own. Only one ques- tion: *' You want me to go. Mother? " And the cry in answer: " My boy! " And the other one — the second; he who is so gentle that babies nod wisely at him, as though there were some secret between them. I remember the winter's night he brought the stray kitten home and fed it with warm milk, drop by drop. Already his comrades in the Signal Corps complain because his horse fol- lows him inside their tent. A man so generous that his touch holds a kind of healing. Yet he too has gone — to kill ! Gone with the FROM THE GREAT WAR 77 warmth of his heart blazing white hot from his eyes. When last I saw him, it seemed to me he was an arrow strung back on the bow to the head. The change in him! Then the last to go — the youngest, the tall- est, the straightest ; his brows a little knit — puzzled — not wholly understanding this thing that told him to put his boyhood behind him and become, too soon, a man. Still, eager, frightened, and very brave — he went. These stars of mine "A nickel a piece; The three of them for fifteen cents ! " I thought I laughed. But maybe not, for through the dusk the vender peered at me strangely. Then — " Can't pay? " he asked. *' Too much? " I fastened my Service-pin to my breast. *' No," I said. " I can pay. It costs a lot, but — not too much." — Ethel Lloyd Patterson 78 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE EYES OF WAR Permission of the author Like a gauzy speck in the pearling dawn, We drift through the silent skies, Over No-Man's-Land, where the smoke balls spawn And the deadly gases rise. We mark the spot where the battery stands — Where sappers toil in the trench-scarred height. We map each mile of a hostile land, Where millions writhe in battle-blight. No silvery bugle to speed our flight. Nor the flutter of banners gay; Not a war steed's stamping for the fight, As we rise at break of day. Only the song of the wind in the planes — A thrill that lives in the day-dawn's glow — A shifting vision of country lanes. That wave like ribbons below. — Chart Pitt FROM THE GREAT WAR 79 FILE THREE File Three stood motionless and pale, Of nameless pedigree; One of a hundred on detail — But would I had been he ! In years a youth, but worn and old, With face of ivory; Upon his sleeve two strands of gold — Oh, would I had been he ! The General passed down the line, And walked right rapidly. But saw those threads and knew the sign — Oh, where was I, File Three! "Twice wounded? Tell me where you were." The man of stars asked he. *' Givenchy and Lavenze, sir " — Oh, where was I, File Three ! Then crisply quoth the General: " You are a man, File Three." And Tommy's heart held carnival — God! Would I had been he ! 8o PATRIOTIC PIECES THE SOLDIER Permission of the author He needs no tinsel on his coat, No metal, star or braid; No outward sign of rank or worth To keep him unafraid. The soldier carries in his breast A living accolade — / The dear medallion of her face. The noblest medal made ! Her faith, her hope, her tenderness, Her human fear and pain Are like the glory on his soul To comfort and sustain. In honor and in pride he goes To face his duty grim ; Transplanted to himself, he feels The heart that beats for him ! — Christopher Morley FROM THE GREAT WAR 8i OUR GIFT Permission of the author Behold Thy sons, O Lord! We give them back to Thee, With outstretched arms and bleeding hearts, On bended knee. Wrought in Thy image, nurtured in Thy truth, The brave, the strong, all-glorious in youth; Guard this our priceless gift, in strife and stress, O Lord of Righteousness ! Our noblest sons, O Lord! We give them back to Thee. Use them to glorify Thy name, A ransom for the free. Yet as we give Thee back Thine own to-day. On bended knee with fervent hearts we pray, Guard Thou our valiant sons on land and sea, O Lord of Liberty! — Caroline Ticknor 82 PATRIOTIC PIECES ASLEEP BY THE IRISH SEA Permission of the author To France I How many weary miles, Dear lads, it seemed ! but only smiles We flung to speed your brave Crusade, Why stain with tears your accolade? But, ah, we feared the swirling foam! The wail of winds that sob and moanl In dreams, that stirred the lonely night, We saw the flash of steel's white light. We heard the cry of men at bay. In anguish watched the dreadful fray. We saw, in dreams, the fields run red. We groped in fear 'mid tumbled dead. Gone now our hopes and dreams and fears, We live with grief that stabs and sears. Yours not the trench — the blinding flame. Not yours the scarlet road to fame. Yours but to stand, with quickened breath, At grave salute — to challenge Death. Yours but to close Life's doors, swung wide, And cross, with song, the Great Divide ! Sweetly you rest, by Larne's gray sea. The booming surf your threnody. Sleep on, brave lads! A world set free. Shall thy immortal guerdon be ! — Elizabeth Glendenning Ring FROM THE GREAT WAR 83 COLUMBIA COMES Permission of the author In war's fast deepening shades Columbia stood And watched Democracy's descending star. She heard with pity Belgium's dying cry, Whose rape by Germany made Satan blush. When her own children died by German blasts While in their merchant ships on lawful seas, Columbia felt the rub of future chains, And saw Death write with steel his awful name Across the flags of all her cherished kin. Then Liberty's bright torch lit well her path, At whose far-distant end is destiny; She saw her Lincoln keeping anxious watch. And now, the troops of seventeen seventy-six. In battle cry, are charging in her soul. Presumptuous Germany 1 to make a foe Of her whose birth was of throne-shaking war That threw the Western walls of Empire down; Who first hitched lightning to her spacious car And in it pioneered the undersea; Who saddled first the untamed steeds of air And rode them at her will through lofty heavens; Whose tireless mind still cleaves new seas of thought ; Whose fearless feet still march to Freedom's drums. —Thomas Meek Butler 84 PATRIOTIC PIECES A NATION'S PRAYER FOR STRENGTH TO SERVE Make bare thy mighty arm, O God, and lead this people on. Day by day, month after month, we have prayed that the cup of war might pass from us, for we have not been able to say thy will, not ours, be done. We have gazed with awe upon the horrors of the battlefields of Europe. There we have seen suffering and death such as the angels of heaven never looked down upon before; while here we have enjoyed the peace and prosperity which have flooded our land, and we have prayed that we might not have to give up our comfort and our ease and face the awful realities of war. We have said to our souls, thou hast much goods laid up, eat, drink and be merry and think not of duty, but of pleasure. We have not prayed, O God, that thou wouldst show us our duty and give us strength to follow wherever thou mightst lead, but we have prayed that our will might be thy will. We have prayed that thou wouldst save us from suffering, not that thou wouldst give us strength to meet and bear suffering if called by thee to do our part In saving clvUIzation from destruction. FROM THE GREAT WAR 85 Forgive us, O Lord God Almighty, that we have so long prayed not to know the path of duty, but to be kept in the path of ease and safety. We cannot fathom the mysteries of this world, we cannot understand how evil can for so long a time master good; we cannot see how out of all the horrors and sufferings of these latter years thou canst bring forth bless- ings to mankind and get glory and honor unto thyself. But we know, O Divine Father, that all things shall work together for good to them that love and serve thee. Teach us then to love thee as we have never loved thee before, teach us to serve thee as we have never served thee in the past. We believe that thou art calling us to take up our cross and follow thee, and that thou hast called us to some great service to mankind and to thyself. Arm us, O God, with the power of right. Let us not go forth trusting in our own strength, which is but weakness. Let no spirit of revenge, no hatred fill our hearts, but give us the strength which comes from seeking to know and to do thy will, and from being led by thee. Grant, O Father, that we may be ready to drink of the cup from which thy Blessed Son, 86 PATRIOTIC PIECES our Redeemer, drank, when, in boundless love for others, he prayed that not his will, but thine, be done. Draining the cup of human agony, he became the Savior of mankind, redeeming the world from the power of evil through his suffering, death and resurrection. He taught us that service and sacrifice are better than great riches, that he who seeks selfishly his own good only may lose his own soul. What shall it profit us as a nation to gain the wealth of the world and to lose the soul of our honor and of our duty to thee? If such be thy will, may it be ours as a nation to be led by thee to help save mankind from the dominion of evil. Give unto us, O God of infinite love, thy " grace, which is love outloving love," to enable us to say where thou leadest we will follow. Make us a nation, O thou Almighty Ruler of Nations, worthy to become the redeeming power to save mankind from sinking beneath the barbarism which fights against civilization, against human liberty and against thee, that all the nations of the earth shall come to know thee and to seek thy guidance through all the ages to come unto thy honor and glory. FROM THE GREAT WAP 87 OLD GLORY Permission of the author A group of Stars on an azure field — There the bond of the Union stands revealed; With bars of red and bars of white, That spurn the earth and seek the light — 'Tis the flag that men have died for ! That star-flecked banner marked the line From Bunker Hill to Brandywine; We fancy that its bars of red Proclaim the blood our grandsires shed, For this is the flag they died for 1 It graced the heights of Monterey; It fluttered at Manila Bay. *' The flag is there ! " Thus ran the news From Pekin and from Vera Cruz — And this is the flag they died for ! Blow on o'er land; blow on o'er sea, O starlit banner of the free; Though foes abound and tyrants rave. Blow on, O banner of the brave ! And this Is the flag we'll die for. — George B. Hynson 88 PATRIOTIC PIECES SCREENS They put a screen around his bed; A crumpled heap I saw him lie, White counterpane and rough dark head, Those screens — they showed that he would die. They put the screens around his bed; We might not play the gramophone, And so we played at cards instead And left him dying there alone. The covers on the screen were red, The counterpanes were white and clean; He might have lived and loved and wed, But now he's done for at nineteen. An ounce or more of Turkish lead, He got his wounds at Suvla Bay; TheyVe brought the Union Jack to spread Upon him when he goes away. He'll want those three red screens no more, Another man will get his bed; We'll make the row we did before But — Jove ! — I'm sorry that he's dead. — W. M. Letts FROM THE GREAT JVAR 89 EFFICIENCY By permission of the author I For forty years he plotted, For forty years he planned, His ships on every ocean, His spies in every land; He perverted social progress, He exploited poor men's thrift, He " utilized " the princeling And the human wreck adrift. There was naught for him too trifling, Or too great for him to wrench. He corrupted press and pulpit, Even Justice on the bench ; The maid who dressed my lady The man who drove her car. The statesman in the senate, And the men who lead in war. And yet for all his well laid trains, For all the fires he fanned. For all the things he bought and sold, And all the plots he planned: He shall not pull it off, my boy. He can not put it through. He's up against a world in arms Of fearless men and true. 90 PATRIOTIC PIECES II Forty years of preparation, All at a tyrant's will, For forty years, a nation In one eternal drill; His furnaces ablazing With case of mighty guns, Shipyards crammed with seacraft And dreadnaughts, tons on tons; Learn'd men concocting poison, Devising gun and snare, To ruin a friendly neighbor And slay him unaware. No enemy was moving. No flag of war unfurled, He plotted 'gainst a peaceful. An unsuspecting world. And yet for all his well-laid trains. For all the fires he fanned. For all the things he bought and sold. And all the plots he planned: He shall not pull it off, my boy, He can not put it through, He's up against a world in arms Of fearless men and true. FROM THE GREAT WAR 91 III For three years now youVe beaten him, In sky, on earth, at sea, Briton, Frenchman, Belgian, And the men of Italy; He boasted he'd sack Paris, The Marne proved that boast vain, He names no more Verdun nor Somme, He's beaten on the Aisne. And now 'tis for America To join the valiant line. To run him from his cover. Back to the river Rhine. If you had plotted forty years To murder your nearest friend. What would you think if your success Attained no better end? Foiled, disgraced, bankrupt, and bled. Despised: now God forefend. If this be not for " efficiency '* A very sorry end. He shall not pull it off, my boy, He can not put it through. He's up against a world in arms Of fearless men and true. — Dr. Felix E. Schelling 92 PATRIOTIC PIECES SEVEN DAYS' LEAVE Bravely acted, little lady; Bravely acted, wife of mine. Though I know your heart is aching Almost to the point of breaking, Not a word of what you're feeling. Only just a teardrop stealing. Such a splendid little lady, Such a splendid wife of mine I Bravely spoken, little lady; Bravely spoken, wife of mine. Just a tightening of your fingers While your hand in mine still lingers; Just " God bless and keep you, dearest; In my thoughts you're always nearest." Such a sportsman, little lady ; Such a sportsman, wife of mine! Is it fair, my little lady? Fair to you, O wife of mine? Seven days we two together. Then we part, perhaps forever. (God! those days, though only seven, Seemed a little glimpse of Heaven!) That's the question, little lady. Yours the answer, wife of mine. — Captain Blackall FROM THE GREAT WAR 93 THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER — WITH VARIATIONS Oh, say, can you sing from the start to the end What so proudly you stand for when orchestras play it — When the whole congregation, in voices that blend. Strike up the grand hymn, and then torture and slay it? How they bellow and shout, When they're just starting out! — But " the dawn's early light " finds them flound'ring about 'Tis The Star Spangled Banner they're trying to sing,— But they don't know the words of the precious old thing. II Hark, *' the twilight's last gleaming " has some of them stopped. But the valiant survivors press onward serenely To " the ramparts we watched," where some others are dropped. And the loss of the leaders is manifest keenly. Then *' the rocket's red glare " 94 PATRIOTIC PIECES Gives the bravest a scare, And there's few left to face the '' bombs burst- ing in air " — 'Tis a thin line of heroes that manage to save The last of the verse and " the home of the brave!" FROM THE GREAT WAR 95 ON TO VICTORY! Our business is to exert the largest possible fraction of our strength at the earhest possible moment, and then to exert our constantly grow- ing strength so fast as with the utmost energy and efficiency we can develop it, until we win the peace of overwhelming victory. This war, so far as we are concerned, was brought on by German militarism and American pacifism working together. To let either or both of them dictate the peace that is to end it would be an immeasurable disaster. We should not have any negotiations with those who com- mitted and who glory in the Lusitania infamy, the rape of Belgium, and the hideous devasta- tion and wholesale murders and slavery in the conquered countries. We are fighting for the fundamental sanctities of life and decencies of civilization. We are fighting for the liberty of every well behaved nation, great or small, to have whatever government it desires and to live unharming others and unharmed by others. We are sending our troops to fight abroad so that they may not have to fight at home. Ger- many must be beaten, and the Prussianized militaristic autocracy of the Hohenzollerns humbled or the world will not be safe for liberty-loving peoples. We must fight this war 96 PATRIOTIC PIECES through to victory no matter what the cost in time or money or in the blood of our bravest and dearest. The ultimate task of our young men of to- day is so to lead the generation now coming on the stage that this nation shall assure its interna- tional safety by grasping and acting on the fundamentals of duty. I sincerely believe that on the whole we of this nation have a little finer material on which to work than is true of any other nation; that in our land there are better ideals than elsewhere of the duty of men and women to one another, to their neighbors, to their country, and to the world at large. I do not see how any man can go through the camps where our army is now being trained without feeling a thrill of pride in the manli- ness, energy and resourcefulness of the men who are there slowly acquiring not only the bodies of soldiers but the feelings of patriots. Those camps are to-day the great universities of American citizenship, and we ought to make them permanent features of our national life. There could be no finer material for citizenship than that afforded by the men and women of this nation. Wc can be sure that our armies at the front and that our fleets and squadrons will do well and bravely, and that we shall hold our heads FROM THE GREAT WAR 97 high because of their valor. Theirs is the great task, theirs will be the great glory. Let us who stay behind back them in every wayl — Theodore Roosevelt 98: PATRIOTIC PIECES MIZPAH Permission of Munsey's Magazine, New York Oh, man o' mine in olive drab, So handsome, brave, and strong, You're bound for '* somewhere " there in France To join the fighting throng. Oh, man o' mine, from out your heart Your eye speaks brave and true ; You'll do your patriotic part. For, man o' mine, that's you ! For liberty you're going, man, And honor — therefore go ! But oh, my man, come back, come back, Because I need you so I One man in ten must fall they say; Each hour my fervent prayer Will seek its heavenward way to plead That God may guard you there. I know the horrors you will see ; I hear the bursting shell. But, man o' mine, you'll do your part, And do it more than well I FROM THE GREAT WAR 99 *Tis such as you they want, my man, To stem the tyrants' greed; But oh, my man, come back, come back, My love, my strength, my need ! — Gertrude Stewart loo PATRIOTIC PIECES THE FLAG Pennission of the author some sing TIpperary, Some sing the Marseillaise, And some prefer God Save the King, Or other martial lays; Give me the Spangled Banner, With its stars now fifty fold, 1 love our Spangled Banner, For we sang that song of old. Some love the brave tricolor. And some the Union Jack, Some hail the flag of Italy, Or the yellow, red and black; They're all our friends and allies, Stout men, alert and bold. But I love the Spangled Banner, 'Tis the flag we waved of old. Flag of our faith and freedom. Flag for which we've bled ! Flag of our home and happiness, Flag of our honored dead! No tyrant's sword shall wound thee. No alien hand shall hold Our loved Star Spangled Banner, The flag we loved of old. — Dr. Felix E. Schelling FROM THE GREAT IVAR loi " HONEY " DRAWS THE LINE I've beamed when you hollered " Oh, Girlie! " IVe hopped when you bellowed " Oh, say! " I've fallen for " Dearie," and " Missus," And everything else till to-day. But there's one thing that's got to be different, From now till the Great War is done — Unless you're prepared for a riot. You've got to quit calling me " Hun! " 1 02 PA TRIO TIC PIECES MARY Permission of the Yale Remeiv, New Haven, Conn. Mary! I'm quite alone in all the world, Into this bright sharp pain of anguish hurled. Death's plunged me deep in hell, and given me wings For terrible strange vastnesses; no hand In all this empty spirit-driven space; I stand Alone and whimpering in my soul. I plod Among wild stars, and hide my face from God. God frightens me. He's strange. I know Him not. And all my usual prayers I have forgot: But you — you had a son — I remember now. You are not Mary of the virgin brow. You agonized for Jesus. You went down Into the ugly depths for him. Your crown Is my crown. I have seen you in the street, Begging your way for broken bread and meat: I've seen you in trams, in shops, among old faces, Young eyes, brave lips, broad backs, in all the places Where women work, and weep, in pain, in pride. Your hands were gnarled that held him when he died. FROM THE GREAT WAR 103 Not the fair hands that painters give you, white And slim. You never had such hands: and night And day you labored, night and day, from child To woman. You were never soft and mild. But strong-limbed, patient, brown-skinned from the sun, Deep-bosomed, brave-eyed, holy, holy One I I know you now! I seek you, Mary! Spread Your compassionate skirts; I bring to you my dead. This was my man. I bore him. I did not know Then how he crowned me, but I felt it so. He was my all the world. I loved him best When he was helpless, clamoring at my breast. Mothers are made like that. You'll under- stand Who held your Jesus helpless in your hand. And loved his impotence. But as he grew I watched him, always jealously; I knew Each line of his young body, every tone Of speech; his pains, his triumphs were my own. I saw the down come on his cheeks, with dread. And soon I had to reach to hold his head And stroke his mop of hair. I watched his eyes I04 PATRIOTIC PIECES When women crossed his ways, and I was wise For him who had no wisdom. He was young, And loathed my care, and lashed me with youth's tongue. Splendidly merciless, casual of age, his scorn Was sweet to me of whom his strength was born. Besides, when he was more than six feet tall He kept the smile he had when he was small. And still no woman had him. I was glad Of that — and then — O God! The world ran mad! Almost before I knew this noise was war Death and not women took the son I bore I You'll know him when you see him : first of all Because he'll smile that way when he was small. And then his eyes ! They never changed from blue To duller gray, as other children's do. But, like his little dreams, he kept his eyes Vivid, and very clear, and vision-wise. Seek for him, Mary ! Bright among the ghosts Of other women's sons he'll star those hosts Of shining boys. (He always topped his class At school.) Lean forward, Mary, as they pass. And touch him. When you see his eyes you'll weep FROM THE GREAT WAR 105 And think him your own Jesus. Let him sleep In your deep bosom, Mary, then you'll see His lashes, how they curl, so childishly; You'll weep again, and rock him on your heart As I did once, that night we had to part. He'll come to you all bloody and bemired, But let him sleep, my dear, for he'll be tired, And very shy. If he'd come home to me I wouldn't ask the neighbors in to tea. . . . He always hated crowds. ... I'd let him be. . . . And then perhaps you'll take him by the hand, And comfort him from fear when he must stand Before God's dreadful throne; then, will you call That boy whose bullet made my darling fall, And take him in your other hand and say — " O God, whose Son the hands of men did slay, These are Thy children who do take away the sins of the world. . . ." — Irene McLeod io6 PATRIOTIC PIECES PRESIDENT WILSON'S FLAG DAY ADDRESS Washington, D. C, June 14th, 1917 My Fellow Citizens : We meet to celebrate Flag Day because this flag which we honor and under which we serve is the emblem of our unity, our power, our thought and purpose as a nation. It has no other character than that which we give it from generation to generation. The choices are ours. It floats in majestic silence above the hosts that execute those choices, whether in peace or in war. And yet, though silent, it speaks to us — speaks to us of the past, of the men and women who went before us and of the records they wrote upon it. We celebrate the day of its birth; and from its birth until now it has witnessed a great history, has floated on high the symbol of great events, of a great plan of life worked out by a great people. We are about to carry it into battle, to lift it where it will draw the fire of our enemies. We are about to bid thousands, hundreds of thousands, it may be millions, of our men, the young, the strong, the capable men of the nation, to go forth and die beneath it on fields of blood far away — for what? For some unaccustomed thing? For something for which it has never FROM THE GREAT WAR 107 sought the fire before? American armies were never before sent across the seas. Why are they sent now? For some new purpose, for which this great flag has never been carried be- fore, or for some old, famlHar, heroic purpose for which It has seen men, its own men, die on every battlefield upon which Americans have borne arms since the Revolution? These are questions which must be answered. We are Americans. We in our turn serve America, and can serve her with no private purpose. We must use her flag as she has always used it. We are accountable at the bar of history and must plead in utter frankness what purpose it Is we seek to serve. It is plain enough how we were forced into the war. The extraordinary insults and ag- gressions of the Imperial German Government left us no self-respecting choice but to take up arms in defense of our rights as a free people and of our honor as a sovereign government. The military masters of Germany denied us the right to be neutral. They filled our unsuspect- ing communities with vicious spies and con- spirators and sought to corrupt the opinion of our people In their own behalf. When they found that they could not do that, their agents diligently spread sedition amongst us and sought to draw our own citizens from their al- io8 PATRIOTIC PIECES legiance — but some of those agents were men connected with the official Embassy of the Ger- man Government itself here in our own capital. They sought by violence to destroy our in- dustries and arrest our commerce. They tried to incite Mexico to take up arms against us and to draw Japan into a hostile alliance with her — and that, not by indirection, but by direct suggestion from the Foreign Office in Berlin. They impudently denied us the use of the high seas and repeatedly executed their threat that they would send to their death any of our people who ventured to approach the coasts of Europe. And many of our own people were corrupted. Men began to look upon their own neighbors with suspicion and to wonder in their hot resentment and surprise whether there was any community in which hostile intrigue did not lurk. What great nation in such circumstances would not have taken up arms? Much as we had desired peace, it was denied us, and not of our own choice. This flag under which we serve would have been dishonored had we with- held our hand. For us there is but one choice. We have made it. Woe be to the man or group of men that seeks to stand in our way in this day of high resolution when every principle we hold dearest is to be vindicated and made secure for FROM THE GREAT WAR 109 the salvation of the nations. We are ready to plead at the bar of history, and our flag shall wear a new luster. Once more we shall make good with our lives and fortunes the great faith to which we were born, and a new glory shall shine in the face of our people. no PATRIOTIC PIECES THE BELGIAN FLAG Red for the blood of soldiers, Black, yellow and red — Black for the tears of mothers. Black, yellow and red — And yellow for the light and flame Of the fields where the blood is shed! To the glorious flag, my children. Hark! the call your country gives, To the flag in serried order ! He who dies for Belgium lives! Red for the purple of heroes, Black, yellow and red — Black for the veils of widows Black, yellow and red — And yellow for the shining crown Of the victors who have bled I To the flag, the flag, my children, Hearken to your country's cry! Never has it shone so splendid, Never has it flown so high I Red for the flames in fury. Black, yellow and red — FROM THE GREAT WAR iii Black for the mourning ashes, Black, yellow and red — And yellow of gold, as we proudly hail The spirits of the dead! To the flag, my sons ! Your country With her blessing " Forward " cries! Has it shrunken? No, when smallest, Larger, statelier. It flies ! Is It tattered? No, 'tis stoutest When destruction It defies ! — From the French of E. Cammaerts 112 PATRIOTIC PIECES FLY A CLEAN FLAG By permission of the author and the publishers, The Reilly & Britton Co., Chicago This I heard the Old Flag say As I passed It yesterday: '* Months ago your friendly hands Fastened me on slender strands And with patriotic love Placed me here to wave above You and yours. I heard you say On that long departed day: * Flag of all that's true and fine, Wave above this house of mine; Be the first at break of day And the last at night to say To the world this word of cheer: Loyalty abldeth here.' " Here on every wind that's blown, O'er your portal I have flown; Rain and snow have battered me. Storms at night have tattered me; Dust of street and chimney stack Day by day have stained me black. And I've watched you passing there, Wondering how much you care. Have you noticed that your flag, Is to-day a wind-blown rag? FROM THE GREAT WAR iij Has your love so careless grown By the long neglect you've shown That you never raise your eye To the symbol that you fly? " " Flag, on which no stain has been, 'Tis my sin that you're unclean," Then I answered in my shame. " On my head must lie the blame. Now with patriotic hands I release you from your strands, And a spotless flag shall fly Here to greet each passer-by. Nevermore shall Flag of mine Be a sad and sorry sign Telling all who look above I neglect the thing I love. But my flag of faith shall be Fit for every eye to see." — Edgar A. Guest 114 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE OLD ROAD TO PARADISE Permission of the author and the publisher, Good Housekeeping, New York Ours is a dark Eastertide, and a scarlet spring, But high up at Heaven's gate all the saints sing, Glad for the great companies returning to their King! Oh, in youth the dawn's a rose, dusk an amethyst. All the roads from dusk to dawn gay they wind and twist. The old road to Paradise, easy it is missed! But out on the wet battlefields few the roadways wind. One to grief, one to death — no road that's kind — The old road to Paradise, plain it is to find. (St. Martin in his Colonel's cloak, St. Joan in her mail. King David with his crown and sword — oh, none there be that fail — Along the road to Paradise they stand to greet and hail!) Where the dark's a terror-thing, morn a hope doubt-tossed. FROM THE GREAT WAR 115 Where the lads He thinking long, out in rain and frost, There they find their God again, long ago they lost. Where the night comes cruelly, where the hurt men moan. Where the crushed forgotten ones whisper prayers alone, Christ along the battlefields comes to lead His own. Souls that would have withered soon in the world's hot glare. Blown and gone like shriveled things, dusty on the air, Rank on rank they follow Him, young and strong and fair! Ours is a sad Eastertide, and a woeful day. Yet high up at Heaven's gate the saints are all gay, For the old road to Paradise — 'tis a crowded way! — Margaret Widdemer ii6 PATRIOTIC PIECES AS THEY LEAVE US Permission of the author Bid farewell with pride, Show no trace of sorrow; Smile into their eyes, Though your courage borrow; There will be another day, And a time To pay ! Gallant is their look, But their hearts are tender. Cry aloud your faith ! Loyal tribute render ! For they go — the young, the brave Liberty To save ! Tell them not of fear; Whisper not of sadness; Overbrim to-day With heroic gladness ; Let your love, remembered, shine As a light Benign ! Simple is their trust, But 'tis deep as ocean; FROM THE GREAT WAR 117 Lofty is their hope, Selfless their devotion; And they go — the young, the brave — Liberty To save ! Hark ! The bugles call ! Wave your banners ! — cheer them ! Happy, let them dream All that's valiant near them ! They will know, when far from you, That the dream Was true ! — Florence Earle Coaxes ii8 PATRIOTIC PIECES " WE ARE OF ONE BLOOD " Two nations, but one people, in our color, race and creeds, Who boast a common heritage and sires of noble deeds; They say a line divides us, but, despite the land or flood, We clasp the hand from land to land, for we're of common blood. We may differ as to tariff rates, waters and boundary line. If we catch each other poaching, we will in- dicate the fine. But we think that we should emphasize, 'twill do us all much good. Our fathers came from common soil; their veins flow common blood. When warring nations question us, we'll fling the message back. With stars and stripes entwined about our dear old Union Jack, " We're brothers born, we're brothers still, and brothers aye shall be, We'll stand for right, we'll stand for truth and Christian liberty." FROM THE GREAT WAR 119 The call for world-wide freedom has put us to the test, The price we pay is very high, we're giving of our best; From college, farm and factory, we've sent our bravest sons, To hold our treasured liberty from devastating Huns. To guard our women's honor and our dear old native sod. From war-mad Prussian officers, whose passion knows no God. Our sons have never faltered; they've always won the day. In face of overwhelming odds, they've held the foe at bay. Here's to the sons of Uncle Sam, who stand with Jack Canuck, Who struggle for a righteous cause in good or evil luck, Whose bugles never sound retreat, who fight to win or die. That Stars and Stripes with Union Jack for freedom's cause may fly. And when the war is over and democracy is saved, I20 PATRIOTIC PIECES While we review the gallant crew, who land and water braved, On the North Sea or Langemarck, Vimy or Passchendaele, We'll tell the world, with flag unfurled, " they weathered every gale." And when the noble veteran troops come marching through our street, And loud hurrahs are sounding to the tramping of their feet, The tear drops glistening in some eyes voice words we cannot speak, That God, who holds " our boys " in trust, His promise will keep. — Rev. C. L. McIrvine FROM THE GREAT WAR 121 THE TRUMPET CALL Permission of the author I dreamed last night of the trumpet-call: " Come over and help us across the sea, Come over and help us, brothers all, We fight for justice and liberty! " But my couch was soft and my comforts dear, And the ones I loved had naught to fear. So I sent this answer across the sea : " The sons of France shall fight for me, Russia's arms and the British fleet Will shelter me in my safe retreat, Italy's brave are in the field, And Canada's troops will never yield." Again in the darkness I heard a call: " Come over and help us in the fight, For the cause of freedom we give our all. In the name of honor and truth and right! " But my heart was sick with desperate strife. And I clung to peace as this nation's life. So I sent my answer across the sea : ** The sons of France shall die for me, Russia's arms and the British fleet. Will guard this nation against defeat, Italy's troops are staunch and strong, And Belgium's faith shall conquer wrong." 122 PATRIOTIC PIECES Out of the East came a piercing cry: " 'Tis you in your safe retreat who die ! AHve are the sons of France to-day, O'er the British fleet death holds no sway, Russia's arms, and Italy's brave, The valor of Belgium strong to save, These the immortal standards bear. You are the dead men over there In the land made free by the blood of France, Boasting the Briton's inheritance. Strong with the strength of every land. Your fair flag droops in a nerveless hand.'* At dawn I rose with my soul aflame, And I flashed this message across the deep : " With the living nations enroll my name ! Brothers, we waken from our sleep; From stately mansion and workshop small, From mine and mill and college hall, From mountain and valley and river town. Men of this nation are winding down. Sons of France, we will fight to-day! Fight for the debt we long to pay. Fight for the valiant British fleet Guarding our nation from defeat." And when at last on some glorious morn, The Peace of a ransomed world is born. And immortal standards in triumph wave. FROM THE GREAT WAR 123 Over the heads of the free and the brave, Glory of France and Britain's pride, With the Stars and Stripes shall be side by side. — Caroline Ticknor 124 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE MAN WHO CAN FIGHT AND SMILE Permission of the author There is need in the world of men to-day For the man who can fight and smile; For the man who can to the field away With a song on his lips the while. There is need in the world of women to-day For the woman who smiles and gives; Who can hide her tears and her deep dismay, While in sorrow she works and lives. There are tears enough in the world to-day, With its strife and bloodshed and grief; We must lift our hearts from the clouds of gray, And so glimpse the sunshine brief. We must fight with a faith as well as a will, For faith will make victory sure; With the knowledge that right shall triumph still, And bring a peace to endure. So here's to the man who can fight and smile. And the woman who smiles as she gives; And here's to the end of war's dreadful night And the dawn of the peace that lives. — Norma Bright Carson FROM THE GREAT WAR 125 MAKERS OF THE FLAG This morning, as I passed into the Land Office, The Flag dropped me a most cordial salutation, and from its rippling folds I heard it say: " Good morning, Mr. Flag Maker." " I beg your pardon. Old Glory," I said, ** aren't you mistaken? I am not the President of the United States, nor a member of Con- gress, nor even a general in the army. I am only a Government clerk." " I greet you again, Mr. Flag Maker," re- plied the gay voice, " I know you well. You are the man who worked in the swelter of yesterday straightening out the tangle of that farmer's homestead in Idaho, or perhaps you found the mistake in that Indian contract in Oklahoma, or helped to clear that patent for the hopeful inventor in New York, or pushed the opening of that new ditch in Colorado, or made that mine in Illinois more safe, or brought relief to the old soldier in Wyoming. No matter; whichever one of these beneficent in- dividuals you may happen to be, I give you greeting, Mr. Flag Maker." I was about to pass on, when The Flag stopped me with these words : " Yesterday the President spoke a word that 126 PATRIOTIC PIECES made happier the future of ten million peons in Mexico; but that act looms no larger on the flag than the struggle which the boy in Georgia is making to win the Corn Club prize this summer. ^' Yesterday the Congress spoke a word which will open the door of Alaska; but a mother in Michigan worked from sunrise until far into the night, to give her boy an educa- tion. She, too, is making the flag. *' Yesterday we made a new law to prevent financial panics, and yesterday, maybe, a school teacher in Ohio taught his first letters to a boy who will one day write a song that will give cheer to the millions of our race. We are all making the flag." " But," I said impatiently, " these people were only working! " Then came a great shout from The Flag : *' The work that we do is the making of the flag. " I am not the flag; not at all. I am but its shadow. " I am whatever you make me, nothing more. " I am your belief in yourself, your dream of what a People may become. " I live a changing life, a life of moods and passions, of heart breaks and tired muscles. " Sometimes I am strong with pride, when FROM THE GREAT WAR 127 men do an honest work, fitting the rails to- gether truly. " Sometimes I droop, for then purpose has gone from me, and cynically I play the coward. " Sometimes I am loud, garish, and full of that ego that blasts judgment. " But always, I am all that you hope to be, and have the courage to try for. " I am song and fear, struggle and panic, and ennobling hope. " I am the day's work of the weakest man, and the largest dream of the most daring. " I am the Constitution and the courts, statutes and the statute makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street sweep, cook, counselor, and clerk. " I am the battle of yesterday and the mis- take of to-morrow. *' I am the mystery of the men who do with- out knowing why. " I am the clutch of an idea, and the rea- soned purpose of resolution. " I am no more than what you believe me to be and I am all that you believe I can be. '' I am what you make me, nothing more. *' I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, a symbol of yourself, the pictured suggestion of that big thing which makes this nation. My stars and my stripes are your 128 PATRIOTIC PIECES dream and your labors. They are bright with cheer, brilhant with courage, firm with faith, because you have made them so out of your hearts. For you are the makers of the flag and it is well that you glory in the making." — Franklin K. Lane FROM THE GREAT WAR 129 FATHER AND SON Permission of the author I THE FATHER Would God that I could go in place Of him, my hope of house and race. Would I could shoulder knapsack, gun Against the wild and furious Hun. Would I could face the tempest, rain, The bullets, hunger, thirst and pain. I'd revel in the maddest fray, If only he, my boy, could stay. I would be glad to sink in sea, Be crucified, or hanged on tree. Or fall in airplane from the sky. I've lived. What matter when I die? I'd stand, with smiles, in vilest trench. And laugh at gases, mud and stench. I would not wail for eyes gone blind. Or shrink from shatt'ring of the mind, I'd revel in the maddest fray. If only he, my boy, could stay. 'Tis ill to know his youthful breast May be by pallid fear oppressed; I30 PATRIOTIC PIECES That he may fall in brutal hands And be a slave to their commands; That he may shudder, starve and thirst Among the demon Huns accursed. Oh, joy, if I could only go And take the pain and bear the blow I I'd revel in the maddest fray, If only he, my boy, could stay. His boyish flesh is all too fair To meet the brutes and devils there. His face it is too glad and bright To front the demons of the night. His heart it is too kind and warm To bear the ice and snow and storm. Would I for him herewith could go And bear the pain and face the foe, I'd revel in the maddest fray. If only he, my boy, could stay. II THE SON The call to duty now has come ; The flags are out, with fife and drum. The cause for which we fight is just; In God above is all our trust. I gladly go to do my share ; FROM THE GREAT WAR 131 My chance is equal and is fair. I hope, indeed, that I may live; In need I have a life to give. My father long has done his part; He gave me home and all his heart. I'd be unworthy of my race If peril now I dared not face. My country has done all for me; I gladly serve to keep it free. I hope, indeed, that I may live ; In need I have a life to give. I feel my heart is strong within; I prize the chance to fight and win. And if I perish, I but ask That word come back I did my task. I'll act so that no blush of shame Will come to them that bear my name. I'm happy that, where'er I roam, My father is secure at home. I hope, indeed, that I may live; In need I have a life to give. — Calvin Dill Wilson 132 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE PARADE Permission of the author I watch the regiments swinging by In the shimmer of polished steel, With guns that glisten, and flags that fly. And bronzed young faces, and heads held high, And the glint of the bayonet finds reply In the answering flash of the soldier's eye, As the endless lines unreel. I hear the throb of the big bass drum; 'Tis the heart of the army beats In its loud tattoo, and my pulses thrum. And the swelling veins in my temple hum, And my sight grows dim, and my lips are dumb. As I stand on tiptoe to see it come Through the crowded and cheering streets. I see the regiments tramping by To the lilt of a martial air, Clean young fellows, alert and spry, Ready and eager to do and die For humanity under an alien sky. And a proud old woman this day am I, For my son is marching there ! — Minna Irving FROM THE GREAT WAR 133 THE NIGHTINGALES OF FLANDERS The nightingales of Flanders, They have not gone to war; A soldier heard them singing Where they had sung before. The earth was torn and quaking, The sky about to fall; The nightingales of Flanders, They minded not at all. At Intervals he heard them, Between the guns, he said, Making a thrilling music Above the listening dead. Of woodland and of orchard And roadside tree bereft. The nightingales of Flanders Were singing, " France is left! '* — Grace Hazard Conkling 134 PATRIOTIC PIECES TO FRANCE! To France ! To France ! The magic music falls Across the world the voice of God now calls To France ! The war bells ring, and all the wide world gongs, As soldiers march out with their battle songs To France ! The bugles and the music of the earth Call out with joy and marvelous mirth To France ! To France for God, to France for Liberty To France for Peace and our Democracy, To France I Columbia's hand now lifts the torch of war And starts with blinding light across the star To France ! The millions, brilliant, march on down the sky And great America rings with all the cry To France ! Come one, come all, to spend your lives and gold. Come heroes, gentlemen, the brave, the bold. To France I FROM THE GREAT WAR 135 Come, citizens in khaki, every one, Come, find your God, come march into the sun, To France 1 To France, to France, the bugles, silver curled, Go ringing out their chimes across the world To France ! Come one, come all, the magic music falls. The voice of God goes ringing with its calls. To France! — Edwin Curran 136 PATRIOTIC PIECES LANGEMARCK AT YPRES This is the ballad of Langemarck, A story of glory and might; Of the vast Hun horde, and Canada's part In the great, grim fight. It was April fair on the Flanders Fields, But the dreadest April then, That ever the years, in their fateful flight. Had brought to this world of men. North and east, a monster wall, The mighty Hun ranks lay. With fort on fort, and iron-ringed trench, Menacing, grim and gray. And south and west, like a serpent of fire, Serried the British lines. And in between, the dying and dead, And the stench of blood, and the trampled mud, On the fair, sweet Belgian vines. And far to the eastward, harnessed and taut, Like a scimitar, shining and keen, Gleaming out of that ominous gloom. Old France's hosts were seen. When out of the grim Hun lines one night. There rolled a sinister smoke; — FROM THE GREAT WAR 137 A strange, weird cloud, like a pale, green shroud, And death lurked in its cloak. On a fiend-like wind it curled along Over the brave French ranks. Like a monster tree its vapors spread. In hideous, burning banks Of poisonous fumes that scorched the night With their sulphurous demon danks. And men went mad with horror, and fled From that terrible strangling death, That seem to sear both body and soul With its baleful, flaming breath. Till even the little dark men of the south, Who feared neither God nor man, Those fierce, wild fighters of Afric's steppes. Broke their battalions and ran ; — Ran as they never had run before. Gasping, and fainting for breath; For they knew 'twas no human foe that slew; And that hideous smoke meant death. Then red in the reek of that evil cloud, The Hun swept over the plain; And the murderer's dirk did its monster work, 'Mid the scythe-like shrapnel rain. 138 PATRIOTIC PIECES Till It seemed that at last the brute Hun hordes Had broken that wall of steel; And that soon, through this breach in the free- man's dyke, His trampling hosts would wheel; — And sweep to the south in ravaging might, And Europe's peoples again Be trodden under the tyrant's heel, Like herds. In the Prussian pen. But In that line on the British right. There massed a corps amain, Of men who hailed from a far west land Of mountain and forest and plain; Men new to war and Its dreadest deeds, But noble and staunch and true; Men of the open, East and West, Brew of old Britain's brew. These were the men out there that night. When Hell loomed close ahead; Who saw that pitiful, hideous rout. And breathed those gases dread; While some went under and some went mad; But never a man there fled. For the word was " Canada," theirs to fight, And keep on fighting still ; — FROM THE GREAT WAR 139 Britain said, fight, and fight they would. Though the Devil himself in sulphurous mood. Came over that hideous hill. Yea, stubborn, they stood, that hero band, Where no soul hoped to live ; For five, 'gainst eighty, thousand men, Were hopeless odds to give. Yea, fought they on ! 'Twas Friday eve, When that demon gas drove down; 'Twas Saturday eve that saw them still Grimly holding their own ; Sunday, Monday, saw them yet, A steadily lessening band. With " no surrender " in their hearts, But the dream of far-ofi land. Where mother and sister and love would weep For the hushed heart lying still ; — But never a thought but to do their part. And work the Empire's will. Ringed round, hemmed in, and back to back, They fought there under the dark. And won for Empire, God and Right, At grim, red Langemarck. I40 PATRIOTIC PIECES Wonderful battles have shaken this world, Since the Dawn-God overthrew Dis; Wonderful struggles of right against wrong, Sung in the rhymes of the world's great song, But never a greater than this. Bannockburn, Inkerman, Balaclava, Marathon's god-like stand But never a more heroic deed. And never a greater warrior breed, In any warman's land. This is the ballad of Langemarck, A story of glory and might; Of the vast Hun horde, and Canada's part In the great, grim fight. — Wilfred Campbell FROM THE GREAT WAR 141 WHAT IS PATRIOTISM? Not dilating with pleasurable emotions when the American flag is unfurled. Not rising to our feet when the Star-Spangled Banner is sung. Not joining societies of Colonial Dames, or Daughters of the Revolution. Not sending off fire-works on the Fourth of July. These things may be the expression of civic pride, or of personal pride, or of pure hilarity. They may represent steadfastness of purpose, or mere force of habit. They symbolize con- tentment in times of peace, and it remains to be seen how far they symbolize nationality in times of peril. For many years no serious ob- ligation has been thrust upon us, no sacrifice de- manded of us, in return for protection and security. Now the call is imperative, and by the sustained fervor of our response will the depth and purity of our patriotism be made manifest to the world. Two things are certain: We were not lightly tossed into this war to appease resent- ment, or to gratify ambition; and it will take all our energy, sagacity and determination to win out against an adversary whose strength can never be overestimated. Because we are a peace-loving people, we reelected a pro- foundly peace-loving President. Because we 142 PATRIOTIC PIECES are a patient people, we endured repeated in- sult and repeated injury, and sought to win re- dress by noble but futile remonstrance. Our flag was hauled down on the high seas, our ships were sunk, our seamen drowned like rats. There were many whose hearts were sore over these things, and whose slow-growing anger burned like a hidden flame. There were many who had begun to ask In Lowell's homely words, *' Wut'll make ye act like freemen? Wut'll git your dander riz? " Still the President's restraining hand held an angry people in leash. Still he hoped against hope, and strove against fate, to obtain some measure of justice. It was only when it became a qpjestion of the United States tak- ing orders from Germany, and so yielding our assent to her crimes, that Mr. Wilson asked Congress to proclaim a state of war. We had then no choice left us. It was not merely the nation's honor and the nation's welfare that were at stake. It was the salvation of the na- tion's soul. Because we realized this, we read unmoved the appeals sent out by Peace Committees, and Fellowships of Reconciliation. What was the use of asking us to " generate, and set in opera- FROM THE GREAT WAR 143 tion the irresistible energies of love; " to *' com- bat wrong by a sustained appeal to con- science; " to assert *' the constructive principles of good-will " ? God knows, we had tried to do these things. We had tried, as decent-liv- ing men and women, to establish relations of decency with the Central Powers, and we had failed. They struck at us treacherously again and again, plotting in secret at our doors, re- paying our hospitality and our trust by making bombs for our destruction on the ships which were sheltered in our ports. It was time, and more than time, that we turned the " irresistible energies of love," the " constructive principles of good-will," to the aid of those allied nations who were bearing on their galled shoulders the burden of a war they had not provoked, and upon whose triumph or defeat rests the hopes of an assaulted civilization. It is imbecile to prate about the glamor of war and the infection of the military spirit. There is no glamor left in war. We know the truth about it. There is no military spirit, unless it is expressed in Mr. Wilson's words, " The world must be made safe for democ- racy." No man likes to endure hardships. Few men care to face danger and brave death. This is why we apply the word " heroic " to a nation's defenders. A French soldier, blinded 144 PATRIOTIC PIECES for life in his first skirmish, said quietly in re- sponse to commiseration, " Some one had to be there." No simpler exposition of duty was ever given. Some one has to do the hard and bitter work. Some one has to front the peril and bear the burden. The man who says, " Why not I as well as another? " is a patriot. The man who says, " Why not another rather than I?" is a shirker.- War is the supreme test of character. It took a war to give us Washington. It took a grievous war to give us Lincoln. Both these men suffered greatly in fulfillment of their high purpose. Both bore their share of pain without shrinking and with- out resentment. If we value our civilization, if we love our homes, if we believe that our country stands a living vindication of popular government, we must prove our patriotism in this day of trial. The pacifist talks of peace, the socialist of the tyranny of capital, the sentimentalist of uni- versal brotherhood, the coward of caution. The patriot has a strong and simple word, duty, to guide him on his way. The issue now be- fore us is one which, in the words of Lincoln, " can be tried only by war, and settled by victory.'' It was not our choice to fight, but the alternative was submission to wrong-doing, and that way lies perdition. American women, FROM THE GREAT WAR 145 no less than American men, repudiated the shameful surrender of all we held sacred and dear, and are now prepared to abide by the consequences of their decision. " Only thus," says Mr. Roosevelt gallantly, " shall we stand erect before the world, high of heart, the masters of our own souls." — Agnes Repplier 146 PATRIOTIC PIECES THE WRIST WATCH MAN By permission of the author and the publishers, The Reilly & Britton Co., Chicago He Is marching dusty highways and he's riding bitter trails, His eyes are clear and shining and his muscles hard as nails. He Is wearing Yankee khaki and a healthy coat of tan, And the chap that we are backing is the Wrist Watch Man. He^s no parlor dude, a-prancing, he's no puny pacifist, And it's not for affectation, there's a watch upon his wrist. He's a fine two-fisted scrapper, he Is pure American, And the backbone of the nation is the Wrist Watch Man. He is marching with a rifle, he is digging in a trench. He Is swapping English phrases with a pollu for his French ; You will find him in the navy doing anything he can, For at every post of duty is the Wrist Watch Man. FROM THE GREAT WAR 147 Oh, the time was that we chuckled at the soft and flabby chap Who wore a little wrist watch that was fastened with a strap. But the chuckles all have vanished, and with glory now we scan The courage and the splendor of the Wrist Watch Man. He is not the man we laughed at, not the one who won our jeers. He's the man that we are proud of, he's the man that owns our cheers; He's the finest of the finest, he's the bravest of the clan, And I pray for God's protection for our Wrist Watch Man. — Edgar A. Guest 148 PATRIOTIC PIECES GOD SPEED OUR SOLDIERS Permission of the author They know not where the journey ends, Our Boys that march away; They only know their Country sends Them on its work to-day. To foreign lands 'neath alien skies The foeman's might to brave — There Liberty deep-wounded lies And calls on us to save. Ye lads that leave our homes forlorn As forth to War ye go, What though our hearts with grief are torn, Yet would we have it so. Could France — friend of our infancy — Appeal to us in vain? France, that for our liberty bled On Yorktown's storied plain 1 God speed you, gallant gentlemen, Columbia's Chivalry! Fare forth to fields of Fame again. For Faith and Memory. We know your hearts beat strong and true, That Freedom's blood will tell; Dear Lads, our hats are off to you, God keep you all. Farewell. — George Frederic Viett FROM THE GREAT WAR 149 FORGET IT, SOLDIER! Sometimes when I grow weary Of beans and soup and stew, I long to be where I could get A home-cooked meal or two. Such thoughts as turkey, steaks and chops Go floating through my head; Biscuits, muffins, hot cakes And loaves of home-made bread. Forget it, soldier ! Such feasts are not for you. Let hunger spice your soup and beans And appetize your stew. At night when I get tired Of bed sack, straw and cot; Of sleeping under blankets, Sometimes warm and sometimes not, I dream of great fourposter beds, With pillow, quilt and sheet And mattresses in which you sink About a thousand feet. Forget it, soldier! Such ease is not for you. Let hard work make your bed sack soft, As other fellows do. 150 PATRIOTIC PIECES But worst of all, when I get bored With what the fellows say, I think about a girl I know So many miles away; The nicest, dearest little girl You'd ever care to know. She was my sweetheart once, it seems, A hundred years ago. Forget it, soldier! Sweethearts are not for you. Your rifle Is your sweetheart, So learn to shoot It true. — C. F. R. — Camp Hancock FROM THE GREAT WAR 151 LA BASSEE ROAD (Guinchy, 1915) You'll see from the La Bassee Road, on any summer's day, The children herding nanny-goats, the women making hay. You'll see the soldiers, khaki clad, in column and platoon. Come swinging up La Bassee Road from billets in Bethune. There's hay to save and corn to cut, but harder work by far Awaits the soldier boys who reap the harvest fields of war. You'll see them swinging up the road where women work at hay. The straight long road, — La Bassee Road, — on any summer day. The night-breeze sweeps La Bassee Road, the night-dews wet the hay, The boys are coming back again, a straggling crowd are they. The column's lines are broken, there are gaps in the platoon, They'll not need many billets, now, for soldiers in Bethune, 152 PATRIOTIC PIECES For many boys, good lusty boys, who marched away so fine. Have now got little homes of clay beside the firing line. Good luck to them, God speed to them, the boys who march away, A-swinging up La Bassee Road each sunny summer day. — Patrick MacGill FROM THE GREAT WAR 153 THE NEW BANNER O fellow-citizens of storm-tossed lands, War weary ! Sounds the bugle-note 1 Arise ! New steadfast standards wait your eager hands, The Star of Promise orbs to meet your eyes. Great kings must pass, that mankind may be free, Beneath the banner of democracy ! The Mighty Ruler of this mortal life Has wisdom, not by mortals understood; The seeds of blood, the deeds of wanton strife Shall some day harvest unexpected good. Great kings shall pass and every nation be Ruled by the people — for the people, free. When the mad anguish of this stricken world — Where valiant heroes daily fight and fall — Has passed and Freedom's banners are un- furled, Then shall we know the reason for it all! Then every waiting, heart-sick land shall see The ultimate design of Destiny ! 154 PATRIOTIC PIECES Brave men and women laboring in toil — Who, faithful, fight with willing sword or pen. Who work to break the rock or till the soil — Shall wear the high insignia of men. All kings must pass, that every man may be A monarch in his manhood, strong and free ! Beyond the present, unimagined woe, A glorious day is breaking o'er the earth : As spring flowers blossom, after ice-bound snow. The God of Gods shall bring new things to birth. It is the dawn ! Great forces are set free ! All hail the day! World-wide democracy! — KIatrina Trask FROM THE GREAT WAR 155 THE COMB BAND Permission of the author Oh we love the gay canned music in the watches of the night And we sit about and listen to its records with delight, And we like to hear the music of the regimental band While the leader juggles gayly with the baton In his hand, But the melody that's sweetest as we linger in the gloam Is the harmony extracted from a fine-tooth comb. Yes, we get some tissue-paper and some combs from out our kit And we gather in the squad tent where the lantern shadows flit, And we play a bunch of rag-time with a lot of vim and go In a sort of jazz-band rhythm — all the latest stuff we know ; Tunes that set your shoulders swaying, while your thoughts are light as foam. To the sound of syncopation on a fine-tooth comb. 156 PATRIOTIC PIECES It's a crazy sort of music which would drive a critic mad But it makes the evenings shorter, and it really ain't so bad, And it often kind of " gets you " when the boys start in to play For I've seen some homesick fellows wipe a tear or two away To the strains of " Suwanee River " and '* My Old Kentucky Home," As they float in wistful minors from a fine-tooth comb. When this cruel war is over — and I hope I'll last it through And we beat the German army — as we all in- tend to do, When the slaughtering is finished and the final fight we win, And with flags and pennons flying we go march- ing through Berlin, I would like to tramp in triumph past the kaiser's palace dome. Playing "Stars and Stripes Forever!" on a fine-tooth comb ! — Berton Braley FROM THE GREAT WAR 157 TO THE GLORY OF THE NEEDLE By permission of Needlecraft, Augusta, Maine Never before have they plied so well — Never so sturdily; Love in the wool, and there's love in the stitch, And the heart of the woman is doubly rich Who's knitting for you and me. The way of the war is a right hard way, And troubled and grim and blind; But what of the mothers at home to-day. And the love that we left behind? Click ! click ! click ! — so do the needles sing. Click! chck! click! — souls of us seem a-wing. And the gray wool falls into magic place. And we fancy we see such a fair, sweet face That battle is blessed with a holy grace — And so do the needles sing! Never before was their task so dear — Never so bitter-sweet! We of the trench and the blood-red land Look to the thrift of that swift, sure hand In victory — or defeat! Our thoughts stray back to a sunlit room Where the casement is wide and bright; And the fairy work of a finger-loom That spins from the dawn till night. 158 PATRIOTIC PIECES Click! click! click! — so do the needles croon, Click! click! click! — with a sort of wistful tune; And the snow sweeps down from a leaden sky, And the chill wind whines as it passes by, It's a desolate place for a man to die — Ah, the needles are none too soon! Never before was their weave so swift — Never so firm and true; Love in the parcel that's handed to me. Bridging the width of a storm-tossed sea, And stamped with the seal of YOU ! The gray wool fashions a precious thing. That covers a fast-timed heart; And precious the song that the needles sing As they hasten to do their part. Click ! click ! click ! — so comes the clear re- frain. Click! click! click! — over and over again; And it's mother, and sister and maiden fair, Who knit for the fellow who's " over there," The home-hands, doing their little share For the living — and for the slain ! FROM THE GREAT WAR 159 FIRST U. S. SOLDIER DEAD BURIED IN FRANCE America's first soldier dead in the war have been buried. Their coffins were draped in the folds of the flag for which they died. Comrades bore them to the center of a hol- low square, formed by American soldiers and veteran French troops. From the massed ranks there stepped a French general. He walked straight to the three coffins, reverently hesitating at the first. Then he stiffened to the salute, doffed his cap, bowed, his face lined as though the mute remains before him were of his own children. " Private Enright," he said softly, as he bowed before the nearest bier, " Private Gresham " — and he turned to the second — ** and Private Hay " — as he turned still further to face the third coffin — '* In the name of France, I bid you farewell. Of your own free will, you left your happy, prosperous country, and took your place by our side. " You fell facing the foe, in hard, in desper- ate hand-to-hand fight.'' The general hesitated a moment, looked at each of the three flag-draped coffins, and then turned. i6o PATRIOTIC PIECES " All honor to them," he continued. " Their families should be proud to learn of their deaths. " We of France ask that the mortal remains of these young men be left with us forever. " We will inscribe on their tombs : " * Here Lie the First United States Soldiers to Fall on French Soil for Liberty and Justice.' " Passersby will uncover their heads to their graves; men of heart visiting the battlefield will go out of their way to bring their tribute of respect and gratitude. " Private Enright, Private Gresham, Private Hay — in the name of France I thank you. May God receive your souls. Farewell ! " A great volley of seventy-fives crashed the final volley of farewell through the leaden, rain-soaked air. Then stalwart American soldiers, tears trickling down their faces, low- ered their comrades' remains and covered them over with the soil for which they fought and died. FROM THE GREAT WAR i6i THE HUN WITH THE GUN Permission of the author TO THE KAISER This is the Thing you have made him — A Brute taught to handle a gun; Bred like a draft ox for muscle, Sir'd by Attila, the Hun. Trained by the gad to obedience, To gee and to haw — stop and go ; Robbed of the God-right to reason, On driven, blow upon blow. Taught the vile trick' ry of warfare, To glory in rapine and might, That Christ was all wrong in His Teachings, That Treitschke and Neitzsche are right. King, fear you not that this Terror, Blood-maddened, may turn in his pain And rend you? For is it not written, " Who lives by the sword shall be slain "? — Will P. Snyder 1 62 PATRIOTIC PIECES OUT OF FLANDERS Three of us sat on the firing-bench Watching the clouds sail by — Watching the gray dawn blowing up Like smoke across the sky. And I thought as I listened to London Joe Tell of his leave In town, That's good vers llbre with a Cockney twang; I'll remember and write it down. W'en I went 'ome on furlough, My missus says to me, " Joe, 'Ow many 'Uns 'ave you killed? '* An' I says to 'er, "'Uns?" Not thinkin' just wot she meant. " Yes. 'Uns," she says, " them sneakin', low- lived 'Uns!" Bitter? Not 'arf, she ain't! An' they're all the same w'y in Lunnon. My old mate Bill, who's lame An' couldn't enlist on that account, 'E staked me to a pint of ale At the Red Lion. Proper stuff it was Arter this flat French beer. " Well, 'ere's to old times! " says Bill, Raisin' 'is glass, '' An' bad luck to the 'Uns you've sent below I FROM THE GREAT WAR 163 'E arsked if I'd shot an' seen 'em fall, Wanted the de-tails and wanted 'em all I An' there was my old hoss in Balham, Gave me a quid w'ich I took, willin' enough, Altho I made a stall at refusin'. " That's all right, Joe, boy! Glad to do it! It ain't much, but it'll 'elp you to 'ave a pleasant week. But w'en you goes back to the trenches, I wants you to take a crack at the 'Uns fer me !