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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. ’ , Page 7 I aKMaa-taMQS I < -XL U W N / ! w g w IRj ill !1 . - H