Newspaper Page Text
April 17.
SOLDIER VERSE, BETTER AND WORSE
PEP IN ALLIED ARMY
SHOWN BY FLIERS’ PAPER.
The superabundance of pep and cheer
fulness that fills the allied armies, es
pecially those of Canada and United
States, is shown in a copy of “Flights and
Landings," the newspaper printed by
Canadian aviators at the front.
Army life seems to bring out the poetic
qualities in the men for many contribute
to the Poet’s Corner. And all of them
threaten “Berlin Billie’’ with dire things.
One of the poems that shows the allied
soldiers' ideas of Germany and German
things in general was written by Lieut.
Heyniger. It follows:
CANNING THE KAISER.
Bring the good old bugle, boys, we’ll
sing another song
Sing ft with a spirit that will move the
world along,
Sing it as we used to sing it half a million
strong.
While we’re “Canning the KAISER.”
CHORUS
Old Bill, old Bill, we’re on the job
today,
Old Bill, old Bill, we’ll seal you so you’ll
stay.
We’ll put you up in ginger, in the good
old yankee way
While we’re "Canning the KAISER.”
Hear the songs they’re singing, on the
shining roads of France.
Hear the Tommies cheering, and see the
Poilus prance.
Africanders and Canucks and Scots with
out- their pants.
While we’re “Canning the KAISER."
Bring the guns from Bethlehem, byway
of old New Yoi*r,
Bring the beans from Boston and don’t
forget the pork,
Bring a load of soda pop and pull the
grape-juice cork.
While we’re “Canning the KAISER,"
Come you men from Dixieland, and lum
ber-packs from Maine,
Come you Texas cowboys, and you farm
ers from the plain,
From Florida, to Oregon, we boast the
Yankee strain,
While we’re “Canning the KAISER.”
Now we’ve started on the job we mean
to put it through.
Ship the kings and kaisers all and make
the world anew;
Clear the way for common folk, for men
like me and vou,
While we’re “Canning the KAISER.”
Here is to the Northland, with her offi
cers and crew.
Engineers and deckhands and her willing
stewards, too.
They’ve all had three years of it, but are
they feeling blue?
Not while we’re “Canning the KAI
SER.”
The major’s sitting in the game, he holds
a winning hand,
He hasn't held a kicker since we left
our native land.
Campbell, Fleischmann. Hines and
Wright four aces, ain’t it grand
To catch a hand like that against the
KAISER.
Surely you remember in the days of long
ago
We were moving Texas down in San An
tonio,
Who'd have thought we'd like to see a
land of ice and snow
While we’re “Canning the KAISER."
Get the pick and shovel out, ye aviation
crew,
We are on the warpath, and there’s lots
of work to do,
"Berlin Billie’s” feeling ill when'er he
thinks of you,
While we’re “Canning the KAISER."
Hindenburg and Ludendorff, that military
pair.
Seem to think thej’ own the earth en
tirely over there.
We will fool them anyhow, we’ll hit them
from the air,
While we’re “Canning the KAISER."
TO A SLACKER
Say young fellow!
I think you’re yeilow!
I believe you're afraid to fight.
_ You’re hiding away from
The issue that must come
To keep the old Flag right.
It you are a man
Instead of a clam!
And have any backbone at all!
You’ll stop your fighting!
Get in the training
And answer your country’s call!
Some little girl
Who thinks you a pearl,
Will find you’re a lemon most sour;
When peace reigns again
And you carry the name
Os a Slacker, who failed in the hour.
Os your Nation’s need!
For your help to succeed,
To crush the ruthless Hun!
With shame you’ll reek
"With your yellow streak!
For the sake of a little fun.
■<
Show the world you’re bold!
Turn pleasure down cold:
And go to the front, do not lag.
Leave good times behind you,
Let honor remind you.
That your life belongs to the Flag!
Come on! Cross the Ocean!
Get in the commotion
And show them your Yankee grit
Don’t be afraid to!
Don’t have to be made to!
But come like a man! Do your bit.
Then if you fall
Why It’s luck, that's all;
And no man can ever brag!
That you were a fellow
Too cowardly yellow.
To fight and die for the flag!
LEO L. CARROLL.
Co. D, 110th Inf.
TRENCH AND CAMP
AT THE SIGN OF THE RED TRIANGLE
I wa’nt much on religion when I was back at home,
And very little Gospel truth got underneath my. dome,
The church folks didn’t miss me much when I zvent Overseas,
And the trousers of my uniform wa’nt bagged none at the knees,
But when I hunted for a place to read the news and zvrite,
A game to pass the time away, a bit of fun at night,
All this and more I found at hand, just for asking, mine,
Tho’ first I didn't savey much the Red Triangle Sign.
I found the chaps who run the place the best kind of good sports,
And ready with a word of cheer when we felt out of sorts,
For when a man at dead of night hands out a good hot drink
And smiles, just like he wanted to, it makes a feller think.
IF ell, when we’d had that sort of thing in camp and up the line,
I got to feel as if it was the sort of stuff for mine,
And when our dead and wounded chums lay ’round like fallen trees
A feller couldn’t help sometimes but get down on his knees.
I haven’t any quarrel with religion of that sort,
And I can fellership the man who shows himself a sport,
And near as I can make it out, the old P. M. C. A.
Is practicing the Christian Faith the right and proper way.
Its Founder was a Carpenter, His helpers fishermen,
And common people liked to come and listen to Him then,
And if you’re looking for Him now I have no question but
You'll find Him working somewhere near the Red Triangle Hut.
—D. E. H.
ODE TO THE HARD-BOILED
SHIRT
The hard boiled shirt! The hard boiled
shirt.
Which mother pressed and father wore!
How tender memories revert.,
todays and things that are no more!
On every seventh morn it rose
And fell upon his writhing chest.
Beneath his one hiack suit of clothes—
His solemn, somber Sunday best.
White! Shining! Destitute of dirt.
An awesome thing that hard-boiled
shirt.
Six days a week in tattered jeans.
He hoed the corn and mowed the hay,
And milked the cow to gain the means,
To dress up on the seventh day.
On Sunday he would sleep till dawn.
Comb out his whiskers, brush his hair,
And put that gleaning garment on,
And Io! Another man was there.
Men called him Deacon then, though
‘Deck”
Was what they called him through the
week.
It lerit him dignity and poise.
It gave him standing in the town,
When he was wearing it the boys,
Would shudder if he chanced to frown.
Alas, those good old days are gone,
In these hard times when ruthless war
Across the land sweeps on And on.
The hard-boiled shirt is seen no more,
No rigid vestment, spic and span,
Remains to mark the gentleman.
PRVT. Wm. C. TURLEY,
109th U. S. F. A., Battery C'..
Camp Hancock, Augusta, Ga.
OUR BOYS
(By Ralph Hunter, Logansport, Ind., the
11-year-old brother qf Private V. D.
Hunter of the Motor Mechanics.)
Oh ! say can you see
By the star-shells bright light.
What pur Sammies can do
In the darkness of the night.
They will raid and bombard
Gaining by the yard.
They will don their visors,
And try to get the Kaiser.
In dear Pershing they'll trust.
And what he says, they’ll do or bust!
So here’s to our Sammies,
Our brave men and boys.
Whose hearts are throbbing—
But not with joys.
They are the men with courtesy and
manner;
They are the ones who will carry the
banner;
They’re the hearts of our true citizens'
pride;
Not one of them do our states try to
hide.
We’ve got an army and commander
true;
We’ve got infantry, aviation and cav
alry ,too.
Now, we’ll show the Kaiser
What our Boys can do!
HER PART.
We women cannot can a ship
Across the danger zone,
Or sink a sneaking sobmarine,
Or storm a fort of stone, •'
Or lead a charge with naked steel,
Or loose a leaden rain,
Bnt we can bind the soldiers' wounts
That he may fight again.
We cannot capture batteries,
Or in trenches lie,
Or cut a barbed-wire or mine a hill,
Or battle in the sky.
Or drop the bombs upon the foe,
Or point the roaring guns,
Or bear the flag to victory
But we can give our sons!
—Private Damon P. Shaw, Battery
B-, 108th F. A.
FROM THE AMERICAN GIRLS
Now you hoys who went so bravely,
who wanted to volunteer
When you heard your country calling
out in tones so loud and clear;
“Don’t you ever doubt your sweetheart
she thinks of you each day”
She is always, always wondering, how
long you'll have to stay.
“Just remember while you’re training,
there in camp for Uncle Sam
That she’s purling. Oh. she’s knitting
for the boy, who is no sham.
She is learning how to bandage and to
nurse the boys who go,
Don’t worry, boys, for the girls,
they are not slow.
Though her faith is true and steadfast,
ofttimes her thoughts will roam
To the boy Who left so quickly, and
just when he’ll be back home;
Though she never doubts him truly
he’ll always bo the same.
As the day he left the loved ones on
that fast out-going train.
Now the boy who wasn’t drafted and
who wouldn't volunteer
When he heard his country calling out
in tones so loud and clear;
Has no chance against the others, with
the girls who loves the colors
For she’s thinking of the soldier boy,
who is sailing on the seas
While you’re sitting there at home
entirely at your ease.
So take this bit of our advice—do not
take a chance;
For his girl will not look at you, for
her boy is off for France.
—Miss Willie Belle Moncrief, Sav
annah, Ga.
WHISTLE
On the cold, icy dawn of the winter,
As I dream a sweet dream of my
home;
What calls me from sleep—
From my cot with a leap,
And forms me In line —
Whether snow, rain or shine?
The Whistle!
After drill when my muscles are tired.
And I feel though my head’s in a
whirl;
What calls me to mess—
As I ponder and guess
If the dinner today.
Will be corned beef or hay?
The Whistle!
In the blackness of midnight a fire
Spreads Rs glare 'gainst the low
hanging clouds,
What calls me from rest —
Out of doors—though undressed,
To spend half the night
As the fire we fight?
The Whistle!
When the army I leave in the future,
After “Bill" has bitten the dust;
'Twill all come to my mind
As I look back b'ehind
When the postman comes 'round
With that old martial sound
Os the Whistle!
But while marching and drilling
and training,
To bring peace to this world for all
time,
What do we, you ask —
To lighten our task —
To keep up our cheer,
And bring victory near?
We Whistle!
—An Enlightened Man.
A PLEA TO THE WOMEN OF
THE SOUTH FOR OUR BOYS
Our boys are in training for over the sea.
We’ve -sent them to you from our arms
and our hearths.
But still wo can keep them enshrined in
our hearts.
As you pass along your broad city street.
And hear the trample of soldierly feet
Or glancing, you'll see a sad, wistful
eye,
O, women of the South, how can you pass
by?
Can’t you stop and for us, won't you
speak a kind word?
For perhaps, since he left us. it’s the
first one he’s heard.
We’ll assure you he’ll take It in a wel
coming way,
O. do it; for kind words are easy to say.
For he’s some mother's son, some sweet
heart’s delight,,
And h!s heart is aching in yearning’s
black night,
For what can be worse when in a strange
town.
No. friendship to cheer him. Why, a
heart bowed down
Will turn many a boy from the straight,
narrow way.
A kind word from you may turn night
into day.
Perhaps, you remind him of that woman
so brave,
Who bade him good-bye with a smile and
a wave
Os tho hand that held high "the flag of
the Free,”
Who taught him to sing “O, Say Can
You See.”
Or perhaps It's the other, whom he holds
dear.
Who kissed him good-bye with many a
cheer.
And who will be true though it be for
long years,
And will knit and pray though her eyes
fill with tears.
So when you are knitting and rolling up
gause,
To protect their bodies, we ask you to
pause,
And warm up and bind up some soldier
boy’s heart.
It’s a duty, a privilege when we’re so far
apart.
He'll repay you for it, ten-fold' It may
be.
When he's fighting for us in France o’er
the sea. '
So keep him happy for we know some day
He will capture the Kaiser for the good old
U. S. A.
BY THE GIRL HE LEF TBEHIND,
To P. J. P. from P. O. P.
A CALL TO VICTORY.
(Copyright, 1917, by Chas. J. North)
Any C. M. tune that suits.
O Lord of all the whirling winds
That fret the stormy sea,
When evil powers fret our world,
We come for help to Thee.
Come spirit in Thy martial form,
And sound Thy trumpet night;
Send forth the call our fathers heard,
To dare and do, or die.
Fill al! our veins with living force,
And nerve our arms with might,
To meet the evil that besets,
And fight the winning fight.
Then rear aloft Thy standard, Right,
And bid us all be strong;
Ring out the call to Victory,
And raise Thy triumph song.
x
LEARN TO LIVE.
“So he died for his faith. That is fine—
More than most of us do.
But stay, can you add to that line
That he lived for It, too?
“It Is easy to die. Men have died
For a wish or a whim —
From bravado or paspion or pride,
Was It hard for him?
"But to live; every day to live out
All the truth that he dreamt.
While his friends met his conduct with
doubt,
And the world with contempt.
"Was it thus that he plodded ahead,
Never turning aside?
Then we'll talk of the life that he led —
Never mind how he
THE SERVICE FLAG
(By Manford J. Holley.)
Oh tri-hued flag, fair emblem of the
free
There’s a new flag flung from the heart
of Liberty,
With a field of white filled in with stars
of blue;
Each one a life fpr the defense of
you.
Oh starry flag with a foe beyond the
sea
That scorns the right of human Lib
erty,
Those blue stars all most eloquently
say:
That the white stars within your blue
shall stay.
Oh Freedom's flag not alone to you to
day
In the serried sands that mingle in the
fray.
To save the world from slavery to the
Hun;
Does this new flag say that it shall be
done.
O, Columbia’s flag, in your namesake's
hand we place
The Compliment of your meaning to the
race,
The flag that holds as one the millions
now
That for the world—weal to war’s grim
fortune’s bow.
O victorious flag, we place beside of
you.
The flag that holds the white stars in
the blue.
The flag that holds the blue stars in the
white; ,
The blend that means the triumph of the
right.
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