War Rhymes | Page 8

womanhood treated like junk,?And think but of guarding your plunder:?Can you tell me the reason, dear Unc.?
It seems that your head isn't level,?With your Wilsons, and Bryans and Fords,?You let things all go to the devil,?And protect your poor people with words.?It can't be the killing that vexes,?And prevents you from getting your gun,?You're lynching men now, down in Texas?For one tenth that the Kaiser has done.
SAMMY
April, 1918
Brave Sammy's a fighter, who said he was slow,?That Duffeldorf blighter was running his show??The fellow who hinted that Sammy was slack,?With praise, now, unstinted, should take it all back;?For Sammy's a wonder, and now going strong,?('Twas Somebody's blunder that held him so long)?He's just the right fellow, we're glad that he came,?The chap that is yellow has some other name.
This Sammy's a dandy; when once in the race,?He makes himself handy in any old place:?Can preach a good sermon, or sing a good song,?Or lick any German who happens along:?A single hand talker, as good as the best,?A two fisted fighter, with hair on his chest,?A long distance hiker, who never goes lame;?He's not any piker whatever the game.
There's no one that's quicker at pulling a gun,?He'll sure be a sticker when facing the Hun;?Can camp in a palace, or live in a tent,?Drink wine from a chalice, or eat meat in Lent;?Sweet tongued to the ladies and kind to the kids,?Condemns things to Hades, when down by the skids;?At home on the river, plantation or farm,?Sometimes a high liver who does himself harm.
Abstemious, very, when prices are high,?He learns to be merry without any pie;?An expert at poker, with money to spare,?A down and out broker who plays solitaire;?An orator forceful, a whale to invent,?O Sammy's resourceful, a versatile gent,?Though late in the race, Sam, we wish you good luck,?Come on, take your place, Sam, with Johnnie Canuck.
FRANCE TO COLUMBIA
November, 1916
Columbia, my sister,?Republic great and free,?When Liberty was threatened?I looked in vain to thee;?That hope was vain, my sister,?You lost your greatest chance;?Men live on lies in Utah,?Men die for truth in France.
Columbia, my sister,?You saw my blood run red,?My sons and daughters murdered,?The tears my orphans shed;?You raised no voice in protest,?To stop the Hun's advance;?Men live at ease in Kansas,?With hell let loose in France.
Columbia, my sister,?Your children you have seen,?Drowned in the cruel ocean?By German submarine;?But baseball is important,?The theatre and dance,?And pleasure rules in Texas?While horror reigns in France.
Columbia, my sister,?In sordid love of gain?Your vultures and hyenas?Wax fat upon the slain;?The nations, sorrow stricken,?Receive your careless glance,?And wealth in Massachusetts?Means poverty in France.
Columbia, my sister,?I know your heart is right,?Though on your head has fallen?This hellish Hunnish blight;?I love you still, my sister,?And warn you, lest perchance?The Huns may rule Wisconsin?When driven out of France.
JIM'S SACRIFICE
Jim marched away one summer day?To fight the boastful Hun,?In khaki clad, as fine a lad?As ever carried gun,?No braver knight e'er went to fight,?In shining coat of mail,?In days of old, for love or gold,?Or for the Holy Grail.
His aim was sure, his heart was pure,?Like good Sir Galahad,?He played the game when hardships came?His face was always glad,?Until, by chance, somewhere in France,?He 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