War Rhymes | Page 9

saw a "Hometown Sun,"

He read one page, then in a rage
He strafed it like a Hun.
The girl he loved had faithless proved,
And German slacker wed;

That cruel stroke Jim's spirit broke,
He wished that he were dead.

He who had been so straight and clean,
And every fellow's chum,

Now lived apart with hardened heart,
And soaked himself with rum.
'Mid rats and mice and fleas and lice
He spent his days and nights;

Waist deep in mud, besmeared with blood,
He fought a hundred
fights;
His faith was lost, the angel host
Of Mons he didn't see;

No Comrade White beheld his plight,
With loving sympathy.
The devil strip, where bullets zipp,
The narrow neutral band
Where
man to man they fight and plan
To win that "No Man's Land";
Here
Jim would go to hunt the foe,
He thought it only fun,
And that day
lost that couldn't boast
Another slaughtered Hun.
His awful deeds so say the creeds,
Jim's bright young manhood
marred;
His health was sound, he got no wound,
But sin his spirit
scarred.
Some lost their health, some lost their wealth,
Of all war
took its toll,
Some lost their life in bloody strife,
Jim only lost his
soul.
THE ORGY OF THOR
The war god calls, whate'er befalls
His orders must be filled,

Though work may stop in mine and shop,
And farms may lie untilled.
At his command each human hand
Must toil to pay the price
In coal,
or meat, or wool, or wheat,
Oil, cotton, corn or rice.
From pole to pole he takes control
Of land, and air, and tide,
Then

death and dearth fill all the earth,
And hell's gate opens wide.
Fierce robber bands, o'er desert sands
No white man ever saw,

Bring all their spoil, with endless toil,
To fill the monster's maw.
O'er ice and snow the huskies go,
Beneath the northern star,
And
gather toll, a scanty dole,
To pay the god of war.
From out the States go mighty freights
Of cotton, corn and oil;

From West to East, to feed the beast,
The people save and toil.
The West's astir, the binders whirr
Around the settler's shack;
The
threshers hum, lest winter come
Before the wheat's in sack.
The bullocks strain on loaded wain,
Piled high with bales of wool,

A season's clip from shed to ship;
The cargo must be full.
The drivers swear, the bulls by pair
Plunge panting through the dust,

Like things accurst they die of thirst
The war gods say they must.
Where battle fields dread harvests yield
The war god's revels be,

Where blood runs red, he counts the dead,
And shrieks and howls in
glee.
With fiendish laughs, he fiercely quaffs
The precious crimson tide;

He'll drink his fill, nor rest until
His blood lust's satisfied.
MOTES AND BEAMS
We condemn, with hot curses, the Hun
For his piracy, perjury, pride,

For his nameless atrocities done,
For the ten million victims that
died.
Then we'll lift holy hands to the skies,
When the day of our
victory comes,
While pale children, with piteous cries,
Starve for
bread in the slime of our slums.
We despite the degenerate Yank
With his blood-spattered idol of gold,


Who, his birthright, for cash in the bank,
And political pottage has
sold.
Then we send our poor boys to the war
With a prayer that they
keep themselves clean,
And we purchase a shining new car,
Praying
harder for cheap gasoline.
We detest the false Bulgars and Greeks;
They must learn to be true to
their friends;
They have proved themselves traitors and sneaks,

Using war for their own selfish ends.
But our grafters their pockets
may fill,
While valiantly waving the flag,
Caring nothing who
settles the bill,
If they only get off with the swag.
We abhor the unspeakable Turk,
For his orgies of murder and shame,

His detestable devilish work
Done in honor of Allah's fair name;

Then we pray as the Pharisee prayed,
While afar off the publican
stood,
But forget the Creator has made
All the children of men of
one blood.
NURSE CAVELL
November, 1915
This world has spots made holy
By deeds or lives of love,
Has
shrines where high and lowly
Alike, their hearts may prove;
This
age, when faith might falter
Mid shriek of shot and shell,
Has added
one more altar,
The grave of Nurse Cavell.
She cared for sick and dying,
Knew neither friend nor foe,
She
spent her strength in trying
To heal a neighbor's woe.
For deeds by
love inspired
The Kaiser's vengeance fell
On form so frail and tired,

Heroic Nurse Cavell.
What though the Prussian kultur
Now threatened her with death;

She met the screaming vulture
In simple, quiet faith,
"I am an
English woman,
I love my country well,

But must not hate a
foeman,"
Said kindly Nurse Cavell.

She faced the guns with even,
Calm, fearless, English eyes,
And
then, her foes forgiven,
Made willing sacrifice;
Thus, at the
midnight hour,
In Prussian prison cell,
Crushed by a tyrant's power,

Died Christlike Nurse Cavell.
But when no more war legions
In battles fierce are hurled,
When, to
remotest regions,
Peace reigns throughout the world;
Where'er
beyond the waters
The British peoples dwell
Mothers will tell their
daughters
The tale of Nurse Cavell.
'TWAS EVER THUS
November, 1916
O preacher, prophet, martyr, sage,
Whose message falls on heedless
ears,
Bethink that unrepentant age
When Noah preached for six
score years;
See Israel to Baal bowed,
The persecuting Pharisee,

And all the loaves and fishes