Voices of Silence (43 page)

And eggs at half-a-franc which – well, ’tis war;

Perchance my protest sounds a trifle flighty.

Belgium! I will forgive thee all – and more –

If thou wilt only sell me (cheap)
one
‘Blighty’!

W. Clifford Poulten

The Newt-ral has an artful eye

Swift any danger to espy;

A very wise amphibian he,

Preserving strict newt-rality.

His pattern is peculiar, too,

With stripes of variegated hue;

And when he’s marked with stars as well,

There is no need his name to tell!

St John Hamund

Because they speak the tongue that’s mine,

Rich in the treasure that belongs

To them as well as me, and twine

Their heart-strings in our English songs,

I knew they’d scorn those German threats

And sham regrets.

Because their country’s name is scrolled

With Liberty’s; because her fate,

Like England’s own, must be unrolled

In Freedom still, they had to hate

The thought of bowing down before

A Lord of War.

And now they’ll lavish in the strife

The gold they’ve scorned to love too well,

And fleets to bring the food that’s life,

And guns of death, and steel and shell;

Defeat or triumph, stand or fall,

They’ll share their all.

They’re out for business; now’s their Day;

They took their time, but finished right;

The heat got slowly comes to stay;

Patient for peace means firm in fight;

And so their country still shall be

Land of the Free.

C. Conway Plumbe

The Eagle’s bared his talons and has soared across the tide,

Shrilling forth in high defiance to the Prussian and his pride,

And the Eagle’s legions gather – gather in the land of France,

For the hand of fate has signaled an American advance!

There’s a sound – a rising murmur – hark! it swells into a roar –

’Tis a mighty nation wakened into action – into war;

Night and day the sound grows stronger, and the work fires gleam and dance,

For the country of the Eagle backs the American advance.

By the millions lads are marching – by the millions they will come.

Lo! the strains of peace are silenced by the roll of martial drum.

Leaps again the flame that smouldered deep within the people’s soul,

And for Freedom that’s endangered heroes pay a hero’s toll.

Scornful sits the haughty war lord in a kingdom of the dead,

And with ears stopped by his ego, hears not yonder ominous tread.

Coldly on a suffering nation he has turned a murderer’s glance.

God in heaven, speed the soldiers in the American advance!

Like the whirlwind and the fire sweeping o’er some doomèd town,

May they sweep o’er hellish forces – courage crushing ‘kultur’ down.

Let none idly stand indifferent, eyeing them with looks askance,

For the gods themselves are longing for the American advance.

In the name of all that’s holy, in the nobleness of right,

They will charge, these Western vikings, toward the forces of the Night,

And eternal laws will hold them, dauntless through all battle shock,

For their fight is based on mercy, which is an eternal rock.

O ye boys of hopes and ideals! O ye modern minute-men!

Ne’er before has such call sounded in the ages of our ken.

Well ye’ve answered, grim preparing, leaving nothing unto chance.

Now in rightness and in justice – oh, Americans –
ADVANCE
!

Clelland J. Ball

Slacker, you sit in your easy-chair,

Thanking the Lord you’re not over there,

Where the cannons roar and the brave men die,

And, dying, perhaps unburied lie;

You may have purchased a bond or two

And imagine that is enough to do.

But some day, after the war is done

And victory by the brave is won,

You’ll see men sneer as they pass you by,

And you’ll wish you had not been afraid to die,

For what is the life of a coward worth

When he hasn’t a friend on the lonely earth?

But the world may consent to forget some day,

And when it has done so, what will you say

To the grandson sitting upon your knee,

As he shows you his book, saying, ‘Grandpa, see!

Here is where in the great world war

We lost a thousand soldiers or more’.

And when he turns and looks up at you,

Saying, ‘Tell me, grandpa, what did
you
do?’

Slacker, you’ll sit in your big arm-chair,

Wishing that you had been over there,

And you’d give you life for the right to say,

‘I fought for God and the U.S.A.’

Ralph J. Hall

Sailing for France! My heart beats high to-day:

I’ve reached the crossroads, and have made the choice,

I’ve donned the new, and cast the old away;

Yes, D
IEU LE
V
OLT
, I, too have heard the voice.

Brave spirit of the past, thy words are true,

Guide thou my sword, for I have donned the new.

Arthur Sprague

‘Oh, this army life’s the candy for the guy that wants it soft,

And the uniforms is free and so’s the eats.

Just sign your name right here, please. We’ll take you ’round the earth.

For the wise ones, it’s the life that can’t be beat.’

But! Did you ever cross the ‘briny’ in a transport?

Was you among the guys that went to France?

Did you ever sleep belowdecks when the ‘subs’ was all around

And your life-belt was your one and only chance?

Did you ever go a-tourin’ in a third-class English train,

With the girls a-wavin’ howdy from the street,

And land somewhere at midnight with our legs all tied in knots,

And have to march three miles before you eat?

Did you ever come a-crawlin’ from a leaky, soakin’ tent,

When the sergeant called sometime before the dawn,

And help to guy a mess-tent that was blowin’ all to smash,

And all your next day’s rations soaked and gone?

Did you ever cross the Channel in an antique side-wheel tub,

And freeze all night upon a heavin’ deck,

And land ‘Somewhere in France’ next day unshaven and unshorn,

And the old high-water mark around our neck?

Did you ever spend a fortnight in an alleged restin’-camp,

And listen to a thousand tales or more,

About the Somme and Vimy Ridge, the Marne, and other scraps,

And wonder why in hell you came to war?

Did you ever ride a ‘rattler’ on the old Chemin de Fer

In a car marked ‘Eight Chevaux or Forty Hommes’,

And finally hit the trenches with your guts up in your throat,

When you heard the Lewis barkin’ and the bombs?

Did you ever see the star-shells flamin’ ghastly in the sky?

Did the shrapnel ever dent your tin chapeau?

Did you ever pass your canteen just to help your ‘buddy’ die,

When the gas come down and caught the ‘Blighter’ slow?

‘Oh, this army life’s the candy for the guy that wants it soft,

And the uniforms is free and so’s the eats.

Just sign your name right here, please. We’ll take you ’round the earth.

For the wise ones, it’s the life that can’t be beat.’

George C. Dawson

Some streets that are crooked, and houses of stone,

A very small room that the peasants call home,

A cow in the stable and
soldats
above,

With many war weapons you’ve often heard of;

Some little old women with great shoes of wood,

Old men who would go to the front if they could,

Tame geese on the highway in columns of file,

The dirt in the gutter all scraped in a pile;

Some girls who will give you a smile when you’re blue,

A town hall, a square, and a large fountain, too,

A brook running by with its water so clear,

That comes from the hill situated right near;

Some trees, an old church with its bells in the tower,

Which ring out for those who desire the hour,

A very small boy with a patch on his pants,

Is my first impression of ‘Somewhere in France’.

Stuart Cutler

It’s a sizable place, this Somewhere –

As big as the whole battle zone.

We eat it, we sleep it, we breathe it,

It causes us many a groan.

We left from the port of Somewhere

And we traveled Somewhere on sea

’Til we landed again at Somewhere,

And it sounds mighty funny to me.

We boarded trains Somewhere for Somewhere,

And we’re camping Somewhere for a spell.

It’s so that when one mentions Somewhere

We’re almost tempted to yell.

There’s a Somewhere in France and in England,

And Somewhere else at the front.

It was Somewhere the boys were in battle –

Just Somewhere bearing the brunt.

It’s Somewhere the censor is cutting

Somewhere from the letters we write;

It seems we’ve been Somewhere forever.

At its mention we’re ready to fight.

At night we no longer have nightmares;

We dream one continuous trip

From Somewhere back home to Somewhere.

When we sleep into Somewhere we slip.

Geography’s gone to the races,

The faces of maps all are changed.

Somewhere in Somewhere by Somewhere

And our minds are completely deranged.

Ye gods! Is the world mad completely?

Will sanity e’er reign again?

Will we ever get back from Somewhere to earth?

If so, O Lord, tell us when.

Earle H. Tostevin

Received your parcel to-day, Mae.

Gee! but those Meccas was prime!

And ain’t you the swell little knitter!

That sweater come through just in time.

The gum made me think of the movies;

The candy’s the first that I’ve had

Since that Sunday we walked to the Breakers

And you thought I thought you was mad.