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As graying shadows lengthen o’er the landscape, And gentle zephyrs lightly stir the air, In yon first twinkling star I gleam a vision Of little sister offering up a prayer. FRA GUIDO, F.A.
THE DOUGHBOY PROMISES
SHE
When you come back— Ah, ’twill be such returning As only lips like mine can sanctify! Then will my arms, that ache with endless yearning, Find sweet surcease from the regret of learning To give you up, if need there be, to die.
Should you come back Aged from the toil of fighting, Marred, it may be, though perfect you set out, What matters, so your heart has known no blighting, Your soul has met the test without affrighting? What is there, dear one, after that, to doubt!
_Oh, but you must come back to me, beloved! Wounded or no, you must come back._
HE
When I come back, Beneath my helmet muddy, There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you; There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddy With hint of Gallic skies, for my real buddy (That’s soldier talk, and soldier talk rings true).
As I come back, Down the street flags adorning, Half seeing all the pomp for sight of you, Foretaste I’ll know of gladsome days a-borning For us, come out of Night at last to Morning From the Long Trail that terminates for two.
_Oh, but I will come back to you, my Mother! Wounded? Why, no! ... I will come back!_ ARTHUR MCKEOGH, Lt., Inf.
OLD LADY RUMOR
There is nothing like a rumor just to set the gang afire, They receive it, And believe it, Does it matter who’s the liar? No, it doesn’t. For as often as we hear of something new, Though it’s doubted, It is shouted By our gossip-loving crew. Conversation is a morsel, and, with greedy appetite, How we chew it, As we brew it, Be it daytime, be it night. Back in the States it started and continues o’er the foam, And we’ll swally It, by golly, When we join the Soldiers’ Home! A-h-h-h—men-n! C. H. MACCOY, Base Hosp. 38.
THE LOST TOWNS
Beneath the new moon sleeping The little lost towns lie; Their streets are very white and hushed, Their black spires tilt the sky.
Across the darkened meadows A plaintive night bird calls; The sea of fog that clouds the fields Rolls softly to their walls.
Within their shuttered houses No midnight candles glance; Their womenfolk are all abed, Their menfolk fight for France.
They dream the little lost towns Of Alsace and Lorraine, The vision of the patient years, The old frontier again.
Sleep on, nor cease your dreaming, Who pitted men and crowns, We’ll bring you back, we’ll bring you back, Oh, little, long lost towns. STEUART M. EMERY, Pvt., M.P.
DER TAG
(In answer to the German toast “Der Tag” in which the German war lords toasted the time when Deutschland would be “über alles.”)
Here’s to the day when the whole thing is won! Here’s to the day when the Kaiser is done! Here’s to the day when we break his swelled dome! Here’s to the day that we go marching home!
Long, restless nights With cursed cootie bites Things of the past! Hot baths at last! Real dollar bills! No more O.D. pills!
Chicken instead of our canned willie chow! All of the ice cream the law will allow! Mess in the way we want to be messed! Dress in the way we like to be dressed!
Neckties and suits! No more salutes! A nice, comfy bed With a mattress instead Of some billet floor That makes your ribs sore.
The day when we no longer blister our heels, But know how a ride in the old subway feels! The day that we no longer parlez Français, But speak once again in the good old home way!
Keep running, Fritz, as you’re now on the run, And before very long you will be a licked Hun, With “Der Tag” that you toasted time-worn and passé, While we drink triumphantly: Here’s to Our Day! HOWARD J. GREEN, Corp., Inf.
THERE’S ABOUT TWO MILLION FELLOWS—
There’s about two million fellows from the North, South, East and West Who scurried up the gang plank of a ship; They have felt the guy ropes paying and the troopship gently swaying As it started on its journey from the country of the blest. They have washed in hard salt water, bucked the Army transport grub, Had a hitch of crow’s nest duty on the way; Strained their eyes mistaking white caps for a humpback Prussian sub Just at twilight when “the danger’s great, they say.” When their ship had lost the convoy they were worried just a bit, And rather thought the skipper should be canned; And the sigh of heartfelt feeling almost set the boat to reeling When each of those two million sighted land.
There’s about two million fellows that have landed here in France, They’re scattered God and G.H.Q. know where; By the cranes where steamers anchor, schooner, tramp, or greasy tanker, There’s an O.D. outfit waiting just to make the cargo dance. They are chopping in the forest, double-timing on the roads, Putting two-ways where a single went before; In the cabs of sweating engines, pushing, pulling double loads When the R.T.O.’s in frenzied tones implore. For it’s duty, solid duty with the hustling men behind, From the P. of E.’s on up to No Man’s Land; And there’s never chance of shirking when the boys up front are working— Night and day must go the answer to the front line’s stern demand.
There’s about two million fellows and there’s some of them who lie Where eighty-eights and G.I.’s gently drop; Where the trucks and trains are jamming and the colonel he is damning Half the earth and in particular the Service of Supply. They have had a stretch of trenches, beat the Prussian at his best, Seen their buddies fall like heroes right beside; But—there’s nigh two million fellows from the country of the blest Who know the cause for which their comrades died, Who have crossed the sluggish shallows where their little life streams ran And broadened just a trifle, you will find; And their vision’s cleaner, clearer and they hold just that much dearer The great and glorious land they left behind! ALBERT J. COOK, Sgt., Hq. Detch.,—Army Corps.
[Illustration: C. LeRoy Baldridge Pvt A E F Audenarde Belgium Nov. 11/1918]
NOVEMBER ELEVENTH
We stood up and we didn’t say a word, It felt just like when you have dropped your pack After a hike, and straightened out your back And seem just twice as light as any bird.
We stood up straight and, God! but it was good! When you have crouched like that for months, to stand Straight up and look right out toward No-Man’s-Land And feel the way you never thought you could.
We saw the trenches on the other side And Jerry, too, not making any fuss, But prob’ly stupid-happy, just like us, Nobody shot and no one tried to hide.
If you had listened then I guess you’d heard A sort of sigh from everybody there, But all we did was stand and stare and stare, Just stare and stand and never say a word. HILMAR R. BAUKHAGE, Pvt., A. E. F.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.