With the Colors | Page 7

Stripes mean liberty,
I've always understood;
So gimme the
right to work--or fight--
I betcha I'll make good.
"As a chambermaid to horses
In a battery that's new,
The work is
rough and mean enough
And wouldn't appeal to you;
But I've got
my place and I'll stick to it--
Can any man do more?
I've never had
a chance, like dad,
To prove myself before."
_Perhaps he won't get a commission;
Perhaps he is dull, and all that;

But somehow I feel that he's better than me--
Now whaddy you
know about that?_
OUR JOB
You mustn't _hate_ the enemy--that wastes a lot of "pep"--
The
Colonel passed the word around the training camp to-day. The Captain
says with modern war we gotta all catch step;
"Cut out the
rough-necked rage and talk, and don't you think or say:
"'Pirates, rapists, murderers; poisoners and lying thieves; Super-vandals,
run amuck--black devils quoting sermons;
This world was mostly
Heaven-made, our Chaplain, he believes; But Hell itself conceived and
spawned the Military Germans!
"The enemy is good at killing kids, and old folks, too;
Torpedoing
hospital ships and blowin' up our plants;
But cogitatin' on their line of
wicked things won't do;
We'll never hate 'em off the map--just give
the guns a chance!"
So we don't go in for loathin', and with anger we don't burn; We're
drillin', and we're diggin', and we're workin' all the while; To put 'er in
the target is the trick we hafter learn--
And ev'ry man's a better shot
when he can shoot--and smile!

The folks at home will spend their time a-broodin' over all The nasty
devils do and on the details they can dwell;
It's up to us to learn this
game, and then--when comes the call-- Pump lead into the enemy--and
send him _back_ to hell.
HER JOHNNY
Since Johnny has joined the Marine corps,
Of course he will do what
he's told,
And Johnny will be at home on the sea
The day he is
eighteen years old.
Just what they expect of my baby
Ain't clear to
his maw; my, oh, my!
But Johnny's a-wearin' the blue--and ain't
carin'--
He's gone! Is it wrong if I cry?
It ain't been so long, I remember,
That Johnny, my baby, was sick

Whenever he'd get on a boat, and he'd fret
Till we'd land--which was
usually quick.
But now, with his gun and his kit-bag,
He's answered
the call, bless his heart!
And he'll square out his jaw and think of his
maw
And go in to win from the start!
My Johnny's not fightin' for pleasure
(I know he'll be sea-sick, pore
kid!)
But he said, "If I stayed, they'd call me afraid;
I gotta sign
up"--and he did.
So now I sit here, sorter dreamin'
Of the days he
was mine. They are done--
I'm proud; but I wish--I could fix up a dish

Of doughnuts for Johnny, my son!
THE FIRST FLEET
We slid into the harbor here,
A line of battle-cruisers gray,
With
hungry guns as silent as
The bands aboard that did not play.
The
fog was soft, the fog was damp,
The hush was thick and wide as
space,
But ev'ry man was standing at
Attention in his given place.
We'd made the port, with time to spare--
And Uncle Sam's first Fleet
was there!

Then came those other navy men--
Our allies in this troubled cause--

Weary of holding back the Hun,
Clipping, too slow, his cruel claws.

Our Admiral, a few-words man,
Greeted the visitors.... "We're
here,"
He said, and that was all. They smiled--
And said they hoped
the weather'd clear.
But still those men with tired eyes
Felt mighty grateful, I surmise!
Around our Fleet--not very large--
We took them, thoughtful faces set;

And then back to the fog-soaked town
They went--uncomfortably
wet;
But in those eyes a happier light,
That told him what they'd
like to say--
That they were glad he had come back,
As he had
hoped to do some day.
Another fleet, with fresher men,
Gave them a chance to breathe
again!
Before they left to go ashore
(A crowd had gathered on the quay),

"When can you start to work?" they asked.
"How many hours will it
be
Before you're ready?" With a smile
Our fighting Admiral replied

(And there was joy in what he said,
Mingled with pardonable
pride):
"Soon as the enemy we meet!...
We're ready now--men, guns, and
Fleet."
So that is how we started in
To do our share--the Navy's "bit";
They
were surprised, but Admiral Sims
Had surely made a three-base hit

With what he said.... And now it's up
To us to do our hearty best
To
make the seas the old-time seas;
Till that is done there'll be no rest.
It is a job to stop the Hun,
But--it's a job that must be done!
BRIGGS OF BASE No. 8
It may be that you know him. A slim and likely kid;
Red-headed, tall,

and soft of speech and glance.
He never took a prize at school (his
talents always hid),
And yet he's got a medal from the Government of
France!
He didn't kill a lot of men;
He never injured one;
He didn't hold a
trench alone;
He never manned a gun;
He drove an
ambulance--that's all;
But those above him