Newspaper Page Text
March 13.
SOLDIER VERSE, BETTER AND WORSE
FATHEFf
Life tells me now I did not understand
My father in the good old days of
yore
When v ' romped lanes of summer,
hat I in hand,
And- gathered shells and pebbles on
the shore.
I never knew the meaning of his sighs,
Nor guessed the secret of his bound
less love,
Though seeing oft a strange light in
his eyes—-
A light a growing boy knows nothing
of.
I took for granted all his kindly ways;
I only knew I liked him best of all.
And that the days with him were gold
en days—
But he was big. and I so very small.
I never guessed why he should care to
be
The chum of mine he was—so long
ago;
The picture that he saw I could not
see,
The future dreams he dreamed I
could not know.
But he is gone, and I am older grown,
As old as he was then; and oh, I
know
Just what he dreamed of when we
were alone,
And why he seemed always to love
me so.
Today—ah, could I only call Ijim
there,
I fain' would tell him that I tried to
be
The man he dreamed of when his boy
stood near—-
Am I, I wonder, what he longed to
see?
Today I kww that every act and deed
And every kiss he pressed upon my
cheek,
Were fraught with meaning only God
can read, —
His heart held words his lips could
never speak;
And ever he was looking far ahead,
With tears his eyes were often, often
dim.
Today I know —*oh, would he were not
dead!
What I am now I owe alone to him!
—EDGAR A. GUEST.
OUR KIND OF A MAN
(James Whitcomb Riley.)
The kind of a man for yop and me!
He faces the world unflinchingly,
And smites, as long as the wrong resists,
with a knuckled faith and force like
fists;
He lives the life he is preaching of,
And loves where most is the need of loye;
His voice is clear to the dead man’s ears.
And his face sublime through the blind
man’s tears.;
The light shines out where the clouds
were dim,
And the widow’s prayer goes up for him;
The latch is clicked at the hovel door
And the sick man sees the sun once
more.
And out o’er the barren fields he sees
Springing blossoms and waving trees,
Heeling as only the dying may,
That God’s own seiwant has come that
way,
Smoothing the path as it still winds on
Through the golden gate where his loved
have gone.
The kind of man for me and you!
However little of worth we do
He credits full, and abides in trust
That time will teach us how more is just.
He walks abroad, and he meess all kinds
Os querulous and unseasy minds,
And, sympathizing, he shares the pain
Os the doubts that rack us, heart and
brain;
And, knowing this, as we grasp his hand,
We are surely coining to understand!
He looks on sin with pitying eyes—
E’en as the Lord, since Paradise—
Else, should we read, Though our sins
should glow
As scarlet, they shall be white as snow? —
And feeling stilt, with a grief half glad,
That the bad are as good as the good are
bad,
He strikes straight out for the Right—
and he -
Is the kind of a man for you and me!
U. S. AND THE KAISER
Oh, the Kaiser had an army
Os most eight million men.
He marched them into Belgium
And for Paris then they ran.
And they' met Old Father Joffr®
And he chased them back again.
And he went marching on.
CHORUS:
Glory, Glory Hadleuja, etc.
Well, the French said to the British,
We. will give you our best thanks
If you’ll come over and help us
With your fighters and your tanks;
And the British said, we’ll do it and
We’ll whip those German cranks
And we'll go marching on.
CHORUS:
The Germans tackled Italy
Upon the mountains high,—
The Dagos almost drowned them
With the waters of the sky'
Now Kaiser Bill is finding out
That he’s no real rough guy'
As goes marching on.
CHORUS:
Then they started in an argument
With our Old Uncle Sam.
He said, I’m not prepared, but,
I will do the best I can, so.
He called out an army
Os the strongest of his men
And we go marching on.
CHORUS:
And when he called upon us, why.
Ten million strong we came.
And we’ll never stop until
We see Berlin again,
And we'll send the Kaiser back
Into the Home for the Insane.
•—Clarence D. Brooks, Pastry Cook, 2nd
M. M. Reg., Officers’ Mess.
TRENCH AND CAMP
PETITION FOR CHANGE
IN NAME
SANTA PATRICIO’S DAY.
Santa Patricio, granda man,
Live-a far v /er sea.
Take-a da cake-a, kill-a da snake-a,
Make-a da Irish free;
So on da Santa Patricio’s Day
Ireland-a man feel fresh,
Make-a da frisk, drink-a da whisk,
Have-a da fine proeesh.
Santa Patricio, granda man,
Fix-a da Irish quick;
Catch-a da job, rule-a da mob,
Run-a da politick,
Make-a da ver’ cig Irishman
Bess-a da Tammany Hall —•
Poor Dago man sell-a banan,’
Make-a no mon’ at all!
Santa Patricio, granda saint,
Make-a, da Irish smart,
Catch-a da “cush,” in wid da “push”—
Dago push-a da cart.
W' don’ da Dago have-a one saint
Help ’m along like-a dat
Own-a New York, don’ have to work,
Hold-a da office fat!
Santa Patricio, granda man,
Make-a me feel like a fool-a—
Dam-a da shame —ehanme-a ma name
Call-a me Pat O Toola.
Den on de Santa Patricio Day
I wear-a da shamrock new,
Folks say, ‘Dere go Antonio—
He is one Irish, too!”
—Hugh S. Lavery.
TRENCH AND CAMP
ON SALE
In order to accommodate the demand
for extra copies of Trench and Camp, a
limited number of copies will be placed
on sale each week at the following places:
AUGUSTA HERALD OFFICE,
ALBION NEWS STAND,
THE STAG,
GENESTA HOTEL,
PLAZA HOTEL,
WATSON’S DRUG STORE,
UNION STATION.
These copies will be sold as long as
they last at 2 cents each.
Attention, Discharged Soldiers!
Soldiers at Camp Hancock, receiving discharges
and who wish employment in Augusta, are requested
to enroll their names and qualifications or former oc
cupations with Ross Copeland, U. S. Public Reserve
Agent, 422 Leonard Building, Augusta, Ga,
Every effort will be made to place these men im
mediately at work at suitable employmen, either in
Augusta or elsewhere.
Employers in Augusta and elsewhere in need of
labor or help of any kind are requested to file their
needs also with the above, so that quick communica
tion may be had for mutual benefits.
Address
ROSS COPELAND,
U. S. Public Reserve Agent,
422 Leonard Building. Phone 2732.
Augusta, Georgia.
THE IRISH KAISER
When the war is over, comrade.
You can take a tip from me;
There’ll be no German submarines
Driving through the sea.
In Germany there's Kaiser Bill,
The one we’re going to lick;
And we’ll have a brand new Kaiser,
And the same will be a Mick.
We’ll change , the song of Wacht am
Rhein,
To a lively Irish reel,
And we’ll make the Kaiser dance it
Any time we. feel.
For the police force in Berlin,
Will be Micks from County Clair,
When we put the Irish Kaiser
In the palace ovei' there.
Tn every' German pathway
You’ll find a sweet Coleen,
On every plate of sauer kraut
We’ll place a shamrock green.
No liverwurst or sausage
When the German drinks his suds;
He’ll get corned beef and cabbage
And good old Irish spuds.
The heathen’s guns and gas bombs
We will throw them all away;
And make them use shillalalahs
And bricks of Irish clay.
They’ll wear no iron crosses,
For it's shamrocks they will wear;
When we put the Irish Kaiser
In the palace over there.
—Manford .T. Holley.
Albany, N. Y—The Emerson-Malone
measure, putting ratification of the
federal prohibition act up to the voters
of New York state in an election this
Fall, was reported out this afternoon
by the sena.et committee on Taxation
and Retrenchment.
O i— O
o o
I ORNAMENTS OF LIFE.
O O
I. Cameo
Time carves us many gems;
But friendship's face
Adorns more diadems
And hath more grace
That all the priceless jewels set
In kingly crown and coronet.
11. Intaglio.
Time hollows many’ stones
But deeply set
In myriads of thrones,
Love's silhouette,
Looks calmly forth from depths
profound
Rare, beauty’ guarding holy
ground.
PRIVT. WM. C. TURLEY,
Battery C. 109th U. S. R. A. '
O
TO THE BOYS OF AMERICA
(Lines written by John Jones., a G. A.
R. veteran, now residing in Wales,
one of the 103 d Engineers.)
The true born sons of America,
Have heard the anguished cry,
Os those distressed people,
Who are under Europe’s skies.
Who have dared to oppose the kaiser
And his mailed iron hand.
For this they have to suffer.
In their own dear native land.
He has trampled on poor Poland,
And brave Belgium he has despoiled,
Also little Serbia, who was true and
brave,
With gallant,, true Rumania,
Have suffered the same fate.
But, John Bull and Uncle Sammy,
With the gallant lads of France,
Will claim a day of reckoning
And make the Huns to dance.
Although the Russian traitors,
Have sued for a separate p.eace
This will not cause us to falter
When we get face to face.
We will fight our way to Berlin
And teach the German Huns
That we respect all scraps of paper
In the land of Uncle Sam.
John Pershing will be thereabouts,
With his Yankee, Doodle doo’s,’
To teach the kaiser’s junkers
That they are no bugaboos,
But regular Yankee soldiers,
Who have come there to fight
For the honor of their country
And the glorious stars and stripes.
NoV then you lads of Pennsylvania,
Who are training for the fight,
Remember that your emblem
Is the glorious stars and stripes,
It has flown in many battles
And has never yet been stained,
Although in many actions
On land and ocean main.
Now the North and South united,
Defend the dear old flag.
1 feel proud to see it flying
' For a cause that’s just and glorious.
When you come home victorious, _
From this most cruel war.
The girls and wives of Yankee Land
Will shout with smiles —“Hurrah!”
BEFORE ItTs TOO LATE
K you have a gray-haired mother,
In the old home far away,
Sit down and write a letter,
Don’t put‘it. off a day.
Never wait until her tired steps
Reach heaven's golden gate,
Just show that you think of her
Before it is too late.
llf y’ou've a tender message,
Or a loving word to say,
Don't wait until you forget it,
But whisper it today’.
No doubt she is thinking
That you are in an awful fate,
Just send her a word of kindness
Before it is too late.
The tender word unspoken,
The letter never .sent,
The long forgotten message.
The wealth of love unspent;
For these some hearts are breaking,
For these some loved ones wait,
O’ show them that you care for them
Before it is too late.
—Benj. Gordon Davies.
COEUR DE LEON
“ ‘We hope, by God’s grace, to receive
the Holy City of Jerusalem.” —Richard
Coeur de Lion, A. D. 1191.
“Wake from thy slumbering, Heart of
the Lion!
Rise from the dream of it, centuries
old,
Look ye from Ascalon eastward to Zion
Where In the dawning our bajiners
unfold!
“Over the domes of the infidel enemy'
Blows the Red Cross of the Crusaders’
might!
Over the Sepulchre, over Gethsemfcne.
Av, over Calvary, glowing with light!
"Godfrey de Boullion speeds with the
tidings,
Stirred, too, from dreams in y’on
Holiest Crypt,
High in his stirrups, the dust of his
str id Ings
Staining the Crescent from Saladin
stripped!
“Nay, royal sire! —no mirage of hope
dying,
Fruit of the Dead Sea or figment of
sleep!—•
Saladin’s slain and his Saracens flying!
God and St. George o’w Jerusalem
sweep!"
—Stephen Chalmers, in The Living
Church.
Page 7
1
V
V Ct
' w
