Newspaper Page Text
Dec. 5. 1917.
Poetry and Prose by Canp Hancock Soldiers and Friends
WHAT GOOD IS
THE Y.M. C. A.?
Well, people, I am just one of a great
number, but I .will try and tell you of
some of the things they do for us boys.
Being a patient in the base hospital for
nearly five weeks —and there are gome
who have been here longer than I—l
wish to say that from the first day the
hospital was opened, we have been sup
plied with all the writing materials we
could use.
There are times when we are feeling
lonesome and have an attack of the bad
sickness called the "blues,” which is one
of the worst things a soldier can get.
The secretaries bring an armful of books
and try all in their power to cheer us
up and after the kind ones of the cherish
ed “Y” leave us, we all. feel better for
it. One of the many things they do is
to publish this camp paper and may the
work of it never be downed.
On Sundays they hold chapel for the
patients in building 34. The first time
I attended the meeting, there were only
a few of us, and there were about seven
different faiths among those present.
The service was one that did not make
any one of us feel out of place..
Now boys, when you write home and
sing the praises of your officers and
comrades, don’t forfiet the Y. M. C. A.,
which you might call the Big Brother
of the army, for without it and the work
the secretaries do, more of us would die
of homesickness than from the bullets
of the enemy. The thanks of the hos
pital patients belong to Secretary Mar
tin F. Hausmann, who has been very
kind to us. S. SYDNEY ROSENTHAL,
Base Hospital,
One of the old 13th.
Dreaming of You
When evening shadows gather,
And the night birds start to call,
When the Georgia moon is shining,
Casting shadows over all;
When the toils of day are over
And there’s nothing left to do, •
Then I lay me down in slumber,
Just to dream, my dear, of you.
I can see the same sweet smile, dear,
Yes, it seems but yesterday,
When we parted at the station;
Now I'm many miles away.
I see your golden hair, dear,
And your eyes of truest blue.
Surely life is worth the living
If I can only dream of you.
I remember that same hour, dear,
When the boys all marched away,
Keeping time to martial music.
Banners flew in grand array.
Though you waved a flag and cheered,
dear,
Yet your soul was feeling blue.
But I hope ’twill make you happy,
? When I say I dream of you.
At the station where we halted,
You were there to say good-bye,
And the kiss you gave still lingers.
May it linger till I die.
But some day I’m coming back, dear,
When this world-wide strife is
through,
And 'til then I’ll keep on dreaming,
Dreaming only dear, of you.
—ARTHUR D. DAVENPORT, 3rd
Reg’t. Band, Camp Hancock.
TH J DAYwFgOOvFrTHE TOP
We’re longing and we’re waiting,
And each hour seems an age,
When we give ourselves to wond’ring
Just how soon we’ll reach the stage,
When down the line, so straight and
fine,
The General comes a’ marchin’,
And nods his head, and then he says,
"Well, boys, it’s time we were startin’.’’
There’ll be joy for those who’ve waited,
And, yes, 'here’!! be sorrow, too,
The sorrow not akin to fear,
That comes to the man who's true,
For the lad of 20, to leave a land of
plenty, ■
For a spot in "No Man’s Land,”
And fight- like Hell, perhaps, die as
well.
To be snatched by the Devil’s hand!
But, still, we’re going to see it through,
And each man will fight against Hell,
To establish freedom and democracy
And crush Prussianism as well,
Though lives are torn asunder, we
wo.A be under,
When the curtains of war will drop,
So we’re longing, and we’re waiting,
For the day we go over the top!
—Albert Dreyful Weitsman, Bugler,
M. D. Co. 109th Infantry.
WENT A LONG WAY.
A certain haunted house down in Geor
gia was held in terror by'all the negroes
in the vicinity except Sam, who bravely
declared that for $2 he would sleep there
all night. A purse was raised and Sam
was told to carry out his* end of the bar
gain and to call in the morning for the
money. When morning came, no trace
could be found of Sam. The house con
tained nothing but evidence of a hurried
departure. A search party was organ
ized but withou tresult.
Finally, four days later, Sam, covered
with mud, came slowly walking down
the road.
"Hi dere, nigger!” yelled a bystander.
“Where’s you been de las’ fo’ days?"
To which Sam curtly responded: “Ah’s
been cornin’ back.” A. J.
TRUST IN GOD!
Let the road be rough and dreary,
And it's end clear out of sight.
Foot it bravely, strong or weary.
Trust in Gcd! And do the right.
—Pvt. Renne Despo, HOh Inf.
TRENCH AND CAMP
When Love Will Rule The World
BY IVA B. LINEBARGER.
’Tis Love alone that ever rules the
world,
For men will bow unto no lesser power.
It matters not the force of arms that
clash
Nor yet how strong the hand that
wields the lash,
If men be cowed, ’tis only for an hour,
They rise with strength renewed and
flag unfurled
To know no peace till Love doth rule
the world.
’Tis Love alone that ever rights the
world.
For men of equal birth will equal be.
It matters not the prestige of the hands
that crush
Nor yet how long men grovel in the
dust.
The monarch’s view will fall—the
bondman see
When each will bear the stamp of Love
impearled
For Love alone gives justice to the
world.
WE ARE COMING
By William McClure Melick.
(Dedicated to the boys from Center and
Dauphin Counties.)
lie are coming, yes we’re coming from
the land of Freedom’s birth,
Ten million gallant Sammies in your
cause our bit to do;
We are leaving home and country, dear
est treasures on the earth.
A. nation’s willing sacrifice we offer unto
you.
CHORUS:
Oh, the Star-Spangled Banner, with its
Red, White and Blue,
America, I Love You, and Yankee Doodle
too;
Will have a new born meaning, when
our brothers, o’er the sea,
With us may sing the dear old song, My
Country ’Tis of Thee.
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah, Glory, Glory
Hallelujah, Glory, Glory
Hallelujah, The Stars and Stripes lead
on.
Dearest Mother, You may never press me
to your heart again,
Within the family circle, there may be a
Vacant Chair;
But if trenches be my station or upon
the open plain,
Remember soldier Sammy when you
breathe your evening prayer.
Like our dads, through Georgia marching,
we will make the welking ring,
With The Battle Cry of Freedom and
Johnny Marching Home;
We will, Just Before The Battle, to the
- breeze Old Glory fling,
Our shouts of righteous triumph shall
ascend to heaven’s dome.
Boys Are Marching, Tramp, Tramp,
Tramping, they who never know
defeat,
Now fiercer grows the contlict, bombs
are bursting in the air;
Hear the sounding of the trumpet that
shall never call retreat,
We will drive them from their stronghold
and place our standard there.
Soon the struggle will be over, soon the
guerdon will be won.
On the Camp Ground, we’ll be tenting, a
peaceful, happy throng;
With a loyal, lasting friendship with our
allies just begun,
'Round the Stars and Stripes we 11 rally
and sing the victor's song.
thFbest of all.
The emotional stress under which our
soldier boys are laboring often breaks out
in poetry—sometimes of a romantic,
sometimes of a heroic type. An example
follows:
Tonight as I lay adreaming
Beneath the Georgia skies —
A vision rolls before me
And brings moisture to my eyes.
I see a dear face wrinkled.
And a wisp of silver hair;
It’s a vision of my mother, dear.
There’s no memory half so fair.
Again I seem a barefoot lad,
When I nestled in her arms.
She used to dress my old stubbed toes
While she told me of the harms.
That wandered in this wide, wide world
For just such boys as me.
And she told me of her fervent prayers.
Os the man she hoped I'd be.
So now I’m writing to her.
For I know 'twill bring Joy
Just to tell her that I love her,
And I’m still her same old boy.
LEO L. CARROLL,
Co. D, 10th Fa. Inf, Augusta, Ga.
LONG ANOI'hORT*OF IT.
A retired colonel had been advised by
his doctor that if he did not give up
whiskey it would shorten his life.
“Think so?” asked the colonel “I am
sure of it, colonel. If you will stop drink
ing I am sure it will prolong your days."
“Come to think of it, I believe you arc
right about that, doctor,” said the colo
nel. “I went twenty-four hours without
a drink six months ago and I never put
in such a long day in my life.” A. J.
HE GOT THEM MIXED.
One of the men in Co. (letter de-
leted by request) of the Engineers, has
a real tale of woe. As related to one
of the secretaries of No. 77, this is the
reason: One evening he was writing a
letter to his father asking for a remit
tance. He followed this by writing an
other epistle of a softly sentimental na
ture to his particular lady friend "back
home.” Then he became so absorbed in
a lecture being given on the platform
tha the mixed the two letters and put
them in the wrong envelopes. He has
been writing letters of explanation ever
since.
’Tis Love alone that, ever frees the
world,
For men have peace beneatiy no lesser
power.
The hand of Love that serves can
govern all
For men will haste to answer to its
call.
It needs no argument to lend it power
For ’tis in gentleness Love’s force is
furled
To rock the cradle—while it rules the
world.
But when will Love give freedom to
the world
And rule in justice, that all strife may
cease,
That may may fear no autocratic
power
On land or sea, but greet the dawning
hour
Os true democracy, of liberty, and
peat 2?
When each man loves —we’ll raise
Love’s flag unfurled,
And then disarm, for Love will rule
the world.
Rockville, Md.
THE MAN BEHIND THE GUN.
We honor all the heroes
That grace the khaki brown,
And all the gallant leaders
From Major General down
Amid wars fearful rattle,
Splendid fellows, everyone,
But the man that wins the battle
Is the man behind the gun.
Not his to make suggestion,
His only to obey;
Uncomplaining he must labor
Through want or bitter cold,
With death and danger neighbor,
Or suffering untold;
To give his life if needed, —
Just a unit in the plan—
Where cannon belch and rattle
Beneath the war clouds dun;
In the thickest of. the battle
Is the man behind the gun.
When the bitter strife is ended.
And brighter days shall smile,
We shall know how much depended
Upon the rank and file
And that no braver fellow,
From Major General down,
I Ever heard the cannon’s bellow,
Or grace the khaki brown.
Let every hero, royal
And every heart be loyal
To the man behind the gun.
—Contributed by MANFORD J. HOL
LEY, Base Hospital.
THE INFANTRY. '
Give my love to the rank and file
Os the Regular Army men,
Who can march all day and march all
r night
And win a battle then.
The seasoned soldiers had as nails.
The flower of the brave and free,
For the good right arm of Uncle Sam
Is the U. S. Infantry.
It’s a long red road that the boys must go
Where the bombs and the bullets Uy,
But the starry flag is their charge to keep
Aloft in the sunlit sky!
So my spirit follows the guerdons gay,
And my heart goes over the sea,
With the footsore, dusty but dauntless
men
Os the U. S. Infantry.
It’s the biggest hike that they ever took
And the end is tfar away,
Where the quick and the dead together
sleep
In dugouts scooped in the clay,
But the first ones up and over the top
In the battle front will be
The olive drab and the slanting steel
Os the U. S. Infantry.
—Minna Irving in The New York Sun.
t Contributed to Trench and Camp by
The Y. M. C, A. Spirit
If I know you and you know me.
How little trouble there would be.
We pass each other on the strpet;
But just come out and let us meet
At the Y. M. C .A. class next Sunday.
Each one intends to do what’s fair?
And treat each other on the square.
But if he does not understand,
Why don’t you take him by the hand
To the Y. M. C. A. class next Sunday?
The world sure is a busy place
And we must hustle in the race
For our rest hours are not quite free
*Tn the six week days, but all should be
At the Y. M. A. class next Sunday.
We have an interest in our hut.
The tent must not go down, but
We want to push good things along.
Let’s try and do it, if weak or strong,
At the Y. M. C. A. class next Sunday.
Don’t knock and kick and slam and slap
At everybody on the map,
But push and pull and boost and boom
And use up all the standing room
At the Y. M. C. A. class next Sunday.
My only regret is that I Cannot be there
for I have missed that dear old place
as much as home for the last six weeks:
but I’ll make up for lost time, for the
Y. M. C. A. spirit never dies.—Private
Samuel N. Boockfor, Ward 21, Base Hos
pital.
JITNEYS 30NTROLLED.
All jitneys entering Camp Hancock
were stopped last week and ordered to
report at Military Polie headquarters to
be registered. Owners were told that
only twenty-five cents could be charged
for a trip to the city and a number re
fused to register. Many soldiers and
civilians have been "worked” bv jitnev
drivers who charged their victims 50 c
and it is hoped the new order will break
up this unpleasant game.
21 —What was making all that noise
in ’the shower last night?
20 —Jones was using his crash tow
els.
“A SOLDIER’S
APPRECIATION”
The following lines were written by a
Camp Hancock soldier, who hails from
Ridgeway. Pa., and are representative of
what many of the Penn boys think of the
treatment accorded them by Augustans:
Your hospitality is welcomed
By a youth who left his home
To defend his flag and country
Wherever he may roam.
You have aided him, a stranger.
Placed your service at his call,
Filled his heart with thankful gladness
For a cause surpassing all.
You jnay have one. there’s no telling,
Who is very dear to you
That will leave to serve the colors,
The Red, the White, and Blue.
Hel’ll appreciate the kindness
Shown by strangers far from home,
And a thankful prayer will offer
Wherever he may roam.
—Jack Jacobs, Machine Gun Company
Eeighteenth Infantry of Pennsylvania
National Guard, )now Eleventh Infan
try.)
TWENTYDAYS
(APOLOGIES TO K. C. B.)
There are SIGNS
I■* * »
And EXERY BODY
* * ♦
Knows that WE
Must HUSTLE
* » •
And be on THE
♦* * 4
Alert for IT *
Will soon BE
• » •
Time for US
• ♦ ♦
To remember OUR SWEETHEARTS
♦ * »
And our "LOVED
One for ALL
* * *
You can HEAR
♦ » »
At this TIME
» » •
Is twenty MORE
Days UNTILL
CHRISTMAS.
—Franklin, F. B. 102.
IF?
!.?jhaps it has never to you once occurred
What value there is in this one little
word;
If profit you’d gain from its meaning
then heed!
B° n t mention it ever you would suceced.
Don t do what you shouldn’t, but do
what you should,
Let go the “I couldn’t,” and tackle "I
could.”
To pause for a moment’s a very good
plan,
For “I Can’t” after thought often turns
to “I can."
_ —S. L. B. (Bud.)
the choice?
The American Spirit Speaks.
T ° M?. e J hdge of right and wrong,
With whom fulfillment lies
Our purpose and our power belong
Our faith and sacrifice.
Let freedom’s land rejoice!
Our anyient bonds are riven.
m °re to us the eternal choice
Os good or ill is given.
Not at a little cost, ♦
Hardly by prayer and tears,
Shall we recover the road we lost
In the drugged and doubting years.
But after the fires of wrath,
But after searching and pain,
mercy opens us a path
Io live with ourselves again.
In the gates of Death, rejoice’
We shall see and hold the good—
Lear witness, Earth, we have made our
choice
For Freedom’s brotherhood.
Then praise the Lord Most High
I ™? 0s V t , rength has saved us whole:
™ h °,,? a A e ., us chooso that the flesh
should die
And not the living soul.
rvv. n ir , ~Budyard Kipling,
printed ii 1 »"'o> Y<)rk Tin '? s of April 13th
tile?/ Arhl above copyrighted poem, en
tiled The American Spirit Speaks ” re
ling*)' 1 b> Cable from Mr - Budyard Kip-
MISLIRECTED ENERGY.
Tne fact that Sir Douglas-Haig attained
his fifty-sixth birthday on June 19 brings
back to mind a story told of him a short
while back.
It is, of course, well known that Sir
Douglas is a soldier first, last and all the
time, regarding all other professions as
of quite negligible importance, a trait in
his character which lends point to the
anecdote.
He was, it appears, inspecting a cavalry
troop, and was particularly struck with
the neat way in which repairs had been
made in some of the saddles.
“Very good work,’’ he remarked to the
troop sergeant major. “Who did it?”
“Two of my troopers, sir,” was the re
ply.
"You’re fortunate to have two such ex
pert saddlers in your troop,” said Haig
“As a matter of fact, sir,” was the re
ply, “they’re not saddlers, in civil life be
ing lawyers.”
“Well,” ejaculated Sir Douglas, “how
men who can do work like that could
have wasted their lives over law I can’t
imagine!”—Minneapolis Tribune.
The shipyards of the world during 1917
will have produced approximately 3,250 -
000 torus of merchant shipping, within
000 tons of the banner shipping year of
1913. ’ ,
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