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diff --git a/19358.txt b/19358.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d7b255 --- /dev/null +++ b/19358.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4423 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of War Rhymes, by Abner Cosens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: War Rhymes + +Author: Abner Cosens + +Release Date: September 22, 2006 [EBook #19358] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR RHYMES *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Joseph R. Hauser and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + +War Rhymes + +[Illustration] + +By Wayfarer + + + + +FOREWORD + + +The reader of this booklet is not expected to agree with everything in +it. The rhymes express only the impressions made on the writer at the +time by the varied incidents and conditions arising out of the great +war, and some of them did not apply when circumstances changed. + +They have been printed as written, however, and, if they serve no other +purpose, may at least help us to recall some things that too soon have +nearly passed out of our minds. + +The outbreak of hostilities, the invasion of Belgium, the Old Land in +it and the rush of the British born to enlist, the early indifference of +the majority of Canadians, the unemployment and distress of the winter +of 1914-15, the heartlessness of Germany, Canada stirred by the valor of +her first battalions, recruiting general throughout the country, the +slackness of the United States, financial and political profiteering in +all countries, smaller European nations playing for position, Italy +joining the Allies, the debacle of Russia, the awful casualty lists, the +return of disabled soldiers, the ceaseless war work of our women, the +United States at last declaring war on Germany, the final line up and +defeat of the Hun, and the horror and apparent uselessness of it all; +some reflection of all these may be found by the reader in these simple +rhymes. + + + + +MODERN DIPLOMACY, OR HOW THE WAR STARTED + +August, 1914 + + + Said Austria,--"You murderous Serb, + You the peace of all Europe disturb; + Get down on your knees, + And apologize, please, + Or I'll kick you right off my front curb." + + Said Serbia,--"Don't venture too far, + Or I'll call in my uncle, the Czar; + He won't see me licked, + Nor insulted, nor kicked, + So you better leave things as they are." + + Said the Kaiser,--"That Serb's a disgrace. + We must teach him to stay in his place, + If Russia says boo, + I'm in the game, too, + And right quickly we'll settle the case." + + The Czar said,--"My cousin the Kaiser, + Was always a good advertiser; + He's determined to fight, + And insists he is right, + But soon he'll be older and wiser." + + "For forty-four summers," said France, + "I have waited and watched for a chance + To wrest Alsace-Lorraine + From the Germans again, + And now is the time to advance." + + Said Belgium,--"When armies immense + Pour over my boundary fence, + I'll awake from my nap, + And put up a scrap + They'll remember a hundred years hence." + + Said John Bull,--"This 'ere Kaiser's a slob, + And 'is word isn't worth 'arf a bob, + (If I lets Belgium suffer, + I'm a blank bloomin' duffer) + So 'ere goes for a crack at 'is nob." + + Said Italy,--"I think I'll stay out, + Till I know what this row is about; + It's a far better plan, + Just to sell my banan', + Till the issue is plain beyond doubt." + + Said our good uncle Samuel, "I swaow + I had better keep aout of this raow, + For with Mormons, and Niggers, + And Greasers, I figgers + I have all I kin handle just naow." + + + + +THE ALLIED FORCES + +November, 1914 + + + When Johnnie Bull pledges his word, + To keep it he'll gird on his sword, + While allies and sons + Will shoulder their guns; + The prince, and the peasant, and lord. + + First there's bold Tommy Aitkins himself, + For a shilling a day of poor pelf, + And for love of his King, + And the fun of the thing, + He fights till he's laid on the shelf. + + Brave Taffy is ready to go + As soon as the war bugles blow; + He fights like the diel, + When it comes to cold steel, + And dies with his face to the foe. + + And Donald from North Inverness, + Who fights in a ballet girl's dress; + He likes a free limb, + No tight skirts for him, + Impending his march to success. + + The gun runner, stern, from Belfast, + Now stands at the head of the mast; + If a tempest should come, + Or a mine or a bomb, + He will stick to his post to the last. + + And Hogan, that broth of a lad, + Home Ruler from Bally-na-fad, + Writes--"I'm now in the trench + With the English and French, + And we're licking the Germans, be dad!" + + The Cockney Canuck from Toronto, + Whom Maple leaves hardly stick on to, + Made haste to enlist, + To fight the mailed fist, + When Canadian born didn't want to. + + From where the wide-winged albatross + Floats white 'neath the Southern Cross, + There came the swift cruisers, + And Germans are losers; + Australians want no Kaiser boss. + + From sheep run, pine forest and fern, + The stalwart New Zealanders turn + To the land of their sires, + For with ancestral fires + Their bosoms in ardor still burn. + + The tall, turbanned, heathen Hindoo + Is proud to be in the game too, + For the joy of his life, + Is to help in the strife + Of the sahibs, and see the war through. + + The Frenchman who made wooden shoes, + While airing his Socialist views, + Deserted his bench + For the horrible trench, + As soon as he heard the war news. + + The wild, woolly, grinning, Turco, + From where the fierce desert winds blow, + Will give up his life + In the thick of the strife, + And go where the good niggers go. + + The versatile Jap's in the game, + Because of a treaty he came, + For old Johnnie Bull, + Will have his hands full, + The bellicose Germans to tame. + + The hard riding Cossack and Russ, + At the very first sign of a fuss, + Cried--"Long live the white Czar, + We are off to the war, + No more Nihilist nonsense for us." + + The bold Belgian burgher from Brussels, + Has fought in a hundred hard tussles, + And is still going strong, + Nor will it be long, + Ere the foe back to Berlin he hustles. + + The hardy cantankerous Serb, + Whom even the Turk couldn't curb, + In having a go + With Emperor Joe, + Will the plans of the Kaiser disturb. + + The fierce mountaineers of King Nick + Got into the ring good and quick, + They are never afraid, + For to fight is their trade, + While their wives have the living to pick. + + + + +THE MODERN GOOD SAMARITAN + +December, 1914 + + + The road that leads to Jericho, + By thieves is still beset, + For Kaiser Bill, the highwayman, + Is there already yet. + + Thrown thick o'er half a Continent, + His blood-stained victims lie; + The priest, in horror, lifts his hands, + The Levite passes by. + + The modern Good Samaritan, + Kind-hearted Uncle Sam, + Exclaims, "This thing gets on my nerves + I'll send a cablegram. + + But while the cash is going free, + I'll see what I can get, + And since these chaps are down and out; + I'll steal their trade, you bet." + + + + +SATAN'S SOLILOQUY + +November, 1914 + + + Hell hath enlarged its borders, + While Satan sits in state, + And gives his servants orders + To open wide the gate. + "My most successful agent," + Said he, "is Kaiser Bill; + Just watch his daily pageant + Of souls come down the hill. + + His friends who sacked the city; + His slaves who raped the nuns; + His ghouls devoid of pity-- + The bloody, lustful Huns, + The 'scrap of paper' liars, + The burners of Louvain + Shall feed hell's hottest fires + With Judas and with Cain. + + The unfenced city raiders, + The crew of submarine + That sank the unarmed traders + To vent the Kaiser's spleen. + The wreckage of the nations, + Ten million dwellings lost, + Murders and mutilations, + The world's great holocaust. + + The workman's scanty wages, + The souls of sunken ships; + The faith and hope of ages, + The prayers from human lips; + The livelihood of millions, + The commerce and the trade; + The untold wasted billions + Man's industry had made. + + For these I thank the Kaiser; + His efforts please me well; + The world becomes no wiser; + It's growing time in hell." + + + + +THE CANADIAN WAY + +January, 1915 + + + When times are good, and labor dear + We coax the British workman here, + And should he shrink to cross the drink, + We tell him he has naught to fear. + + But when the times are hard and straight, + His is indeed a sorry fate; + We let him die, with starving cry, + Like Lazarus, beside our gate. + + When all the battle flags are furled, + And wolf and lamb together curled, + We loudly sing,--"God Save the King," + And bid defiance to the world. + + When some must go to bear the brunt, + And check the German Kaiser's stunt, + We still can brag, and wave the flag, + But send the British to the front. + + When Princess Pats charge down the pike, + And put the Germans on the hike, + We shout,--"Hooray for Canaday! + The world has never seen our like." + + But when word comes across the waves, + The first contingent misbehaves, + We cry aloud to all the crowd, + "Them British born are fools or knaves." + + When other men with sword and gun, + Would stop the fierce destroying Hun, + We count the cost as money lost, + And still look out for number one. + + When other lands attain their goal, + Our name will blacken Heaven's scroll, + A thing of scorn, all men to warn; + A country that has lost its soul. + + + + +THE ENGLISH WOMAN'S COMPLAINT + +March, 1915 + + + We want to ask Canadians + To treat us not as fools; + We cannot learn to play the game + Until we learn the rules. + We ask them not to try to take + The mote from our eye, + Nor say, till their own beam's removed, + "No English need apply." + + We try to be Canadians, + It's 'ard we must confess, + To drop our English adjectives + And learn to say "I guess," + We've chucked the bread and cheese and beer, + We learning to eat pie, + So please cut out that nasty slur, + "No English need apply." + + We came 'ere for our children's sake, + (At 'ome they 'ad no show) + Though 'tain't just what we thought it was, + This land of frost and snow; + But we never shrink at 'ardships, + And we've come 'ere to stiy; + So hustle down that bloomin' sign, + "No English need apply." + + We aren't no cooking experts, + And couldn't make a blouse, + For, till our 'usbands married us, + We never 'ad kept 'ouse; + And then we 'ad our families, + But that's no reason why, + As you should flash your dirty ads, + "No English need apply." + + At learning to economize + Perhaps we're rather slow, + But when you call for volunteers + Our sons and 'usbands go; + In all of your contingents + Canadians are shy, + But Colonel Sam 'as never said, + "No English need apply." + + When, steeped in military pride, + The crazy Kaiser Bill + Let loose his hell-directed hordes, + To plunder, burn and kill, + And British lads took up their guns + For Freedom's cause to die, + Brave, blood-stained Belgium didn't say + "No English need apply." + + Wherever danger blocks the way + An Englishman has led, + No storm-tossed sea, no foreign shore, + But shelters England's dead; + And when brave spirits took their flight + To realms beyond the sky, + We know Saint Peter didn't say + "No English need apply." + + + + +UNEMPLOYED + +April, 1915 + + + "I haven't any way, sir, to earn my daily bread; + Give me a job, I pray, sir, my children must be fed." + "To keep your kids from harm, sir," the city man replied, + "There's no place like the farm, sir, the peaceful country side." + + "I have no work to do, sir," said I to Farmer Sprout; + "So I have come to you, sir, to try to help me out." + He answered: "Can you plow, sir, or build a load of hay? + If you can't milk a cow, sir, you'd better fade away." + + "Have you a job to-day, sir, to give a working man? + My stomach's full of hay, sir, my children live on bran." + "I really can't delay, sir," the busy man replied, + "Please call some other day, sir, my car is just outside." + + "I want to find a place, sir," said I to Groucher Black; + "I couldn't go the pace, sir, and now I'm off the track." + Old Groucher growled in answer, "This town of blasted hopes + Has no place for a man, sir, who does not know the ropes." + + "I'm anxious to enlist, sir, I am a Briton true, + To fight the mailed fist, sir, the Kaiser and his crew." + Thus answered Dr. Brown,--"Sir, in one main point you lack; + I'll have to turn you down, sir, because your teeth don't track." + + "I'd like to find some work, sir," to Smith, M.P., I spoke; + "I really am no shirk, sir, although I'm stony broke." + Said he, "You poor old lobster, you have a lot to learn, + To get a steady job, sir, you really must intern." + + + + +THE HATE OF HANS + +April, 1915 + + + I hate dot teufel, Johnnie Bull, + (Der Kaiser says I must) + Mit rage mine heart is filled so full + Sometime I tink I'll bust. + + Vot pisness he mit horse and gun, + Dot channel shtream to cross? + Vot matter for de tings ve done? + Der Kaiser is de boss. + + Dose English, yaw, I tells you true! + Dey spoil der Kaiser's plans, + Shoost cause ve march de Belgium through + Dey kill us Sherman mans. + + Mine brudder's dead, already, soon, + Mine sister is von spy, + Mine cousin rides de big balloon, + Dot floats up in de sky. + + My poys--dot story I can't wrote, + I lose them, von--two--tree, + Ven English teufels sink dose boat, + Vot sail der untersee. + + Mineself, I learn de English talk + Von time in Milwaukee, + I hang around de Antwerp dock, + Und hear vot I can see. + + Dey tink dey'll shtarve us Shermans oudt, + Not yet, already, blease, + Ve still haf lots of saur-kraut, + Und goot limburger cheese. + + Mit blenty peers unt blenty shmokes, + Und rye bread mixed mit sand, + Dis is enough for Sherman folks + Dat luf de faderland. + + Ve'll tear dot English heart oudt yet + Mit eagle's beak and claws; + Shoost now ve can't to London get, + I don't know vy pecause. + + Ve should haf been dere long ago, + Mit dose machine dot flies, + But tings seem gooing britty slow, + Berhaps der Kaiser lies. + + + + +HANS BEGINS TO WONDER + +April, 1915 + + + I vonder if dot's nefer so, + Shaymeezle Russia take. + You can't pelieve von half you know, + Such lies dose papers make. + + I vonder if dose tales are true, + Ve lose most all our ships, + Our colonies and commerce too; + I hear tings mit my lips. + + I vonder if dose Dardanelles, + Can shtop der allied fleet, + Somedimes to me dere's someting tells, + Maype dose Turks get peat. + + I vonder, too, if Italy + Vill give to us der bump, + Shoost now she's vaiting yet to see + Vichway der cat vill yump. + + I vonder can our army shtop + Dose Russian teufels' raid, + Or vill dey gain de mountain top + Or fail to make de grade. + + I vonder if dot Balkan bunch, + Und Greece und Holland too, + Should give us britty soon de punch, + Vot vill der Kaiser do. + + I vonder vere der Kaiser shtays + Mit all dose poys of his, + You pet, dey keep a goot long vays + From vere de bullets whiz. + + I vonder if dot kultur's goot, + Sometimes it is, no doubt, + But ven it comes to daily foodt + I luf der saur-kraut. + + I vonder if ve all get stung, + Like vot de Yankees say; + Der Kaiser maype yet get hung, + If ve don't vin de day. + + * * * * * + + Mine gracious! vot is dat I say? + No von, I hope, don't hear; + Dose spies vould sell mine life away + For von goot drink of peer. + + + + +=RECRUITING APPEALS= + + + + +JACK CANUCK + +October, 1914 + + + "Only forty per cent of the volunteers at Valcartier are Canadian + born." "A large number of men are being kept at home by their wives + and mothers." + --Recent News Items. + + Our Jack Canuck is active, + He plays a pretty goal, + But make swift runs to cover + When drums begin to roll. + + And Jack Canuck's unselfish, + He lets the honors go + All to his British brother, + When war time bugles blow. + + And Jack Canuck is modest; + That's why he chooses rears, + And sees the front seats taken + By British volunteers. + + Yes, Jack Canuck's a hero + Whose glory never fades; + He'll lick his weight in wild cats + --The day his lodge parades. + + And Jack Canuck's free handed + He sends, (Jack's awful wise), + His dumpling dust in ship loads; + (It pays to advertise). + + For Jack Canuck is thrifty, + He wants, when peace is made, + To feed the worn out nations, + And capture all the trade. + + And Miss Canuck and Mrs., + They value so the lives + Of husband, son and sweetheart, + These daughters, maids and wives. + + They'll let the Belgian mother, + The French and English maid + Give husband, lover, brother, + To stop the Kaiser's raid. + + They'll see sweet Highland Mary + Walk life's long path alone, + And hear dear Irish Nora + Wail for the loved ones gone. + + They'll send a feather pillow + Or knit a pair of socks, + And think they've done their duty + By them that take the knocks. + + Oh that our hearts were bigger, + And not so worldly wise; + 'When duty calls, or danger;' + Ready to sacrifice. + + + + +WHAT OWEST THOU + +February, 1915 + + + In blood bought Belgian trenches, + On stormy Northern Sea, + Brave hearts of oak are watching, + Protecting you and me. + + The British wife and mother, + The maid with sweetheart dear, + Lest those they love should falter + Hold back the scalding tear. + + "Your King and Country need you," + They say with courage high. + "Your fathers, too, were soldiers; + And not afraid to die." + + Like fearless free born Britons, + Not Kaiser driven slaves, + Go heroes from the homeland + To unmarked foreign graves. + + Shall we, with path made easy, + While others fight and fall, + In freedom's hour of danger + Neglect the Empire's call? + + Shall we hoard up our dollars? + Shall farmers hold their wheat, + While children suffer hunger, + And workmen walk the street? + + That land is doomed already + To black, unending night, + Whose old men worship money; + Whose young men will not fight. + + O, for some John the Baptist! + Some prophet Malachi, + To lash our selfish conscience, + And teach us purpose high. + + * * * * * + + Thank Heaven there's a remnant, + A few not quite enslaved, + For ten just men in Sodom, + The city would have saved. + + + + +A CALL TO THE COLORS + +November, 1915 + + + Ye strong young men of Huron, + Ye sons of Britons true, + Your fathers fought for freedom, + And now it's up to you; + Your brother's blood is calling, + For you they fought and died, + Brave boys with souls unconquered, + By Huns are crucified. + + Ten million Hunnish outlaws, + The Kaiser's tools and slaves, + Have strewn the sea with corpses, + And scarred the earth with graves; + They know no god but mammon; + No law but sword and flame, + They crush the weaker peoples, + With deeds we dare not name. + + See Belgium rent and bleeding, + The Kaiser's hellish work, + Armenia vainly pleading + For mercy from the Turk. + The Poles and Serbs are dying + The victims of the Huns, + With anguished voices crying, + "O send us men and guns!" + + Think of the Lusitania, + Of martyred Nurse Cavell, + Then say, "Can these be human + Who act like fiends of hell." + The Empire's in the conflict, + And bound to see it through; + Each man the old flag shelters, + Must share the burden too. + + Then rise, ye sons of Huron, + All hell has broken loose, + The Kaiser's strafe is on us, + With him we make no truce. + Come, rally to the colors + Till victory is won, + Your King and country need you, + And duty must be done. + + + + +CHOOSE YE + + + In times like these, each heart decrees + A law unto itself; + What shall it be for you and me, + Self sacrifice or pelf? + Which shall we choose, to win or lose? + Our all is in the game: + What shall we give that Truth may live? + How much in Freedom's name? + + A hero's heart, an honored name, + Or coward's part, and shirker's shame? + The awful strife, wounds and disease, + Or sordid life of selfish ease? + An open purse, our strength in full, + Or painted horse and party pull? + The trenches' mud, and trusted word, + Or tainted blood, and rusted sword? + Soul unafraid, the prayer of faith, + Or heart dismayed at thought of death? + The noble deed, the unmarked grave, + Or craven greed our lives to save? + + Where shall we stand that this fair land + No Kaiser's strafe shall know? + Shall never feel the Prussian heel, + Nor German kultur show? + This we will do, if we are true; + Honor the Empire's call, + Each bear his part with loyal heart, + Lest Britain's flag may fall. + + + + +THE SLACKER'S SON + + + "The teacher says at school, dad, that twenty years ago + The Kaiser tried to rule, dad, and plunged the world in woe. + When Britain needed men, dad, to help to fight the Huns, + Boys dropped the plow and pen, dad, to go and man the guns. + + Each man he did his share, dad, the loyal, strong and true; + I wish I had been there, dad, to fight along with you. + I'm glad you met no harm, dad, and wear no wooden peg; + For Bill's dad lost an arm, dad, and Jim's dad lost a leg. + + The Kaiser was so strong, dad, that Britain almost lost, + The war was hard and long, dad, and none could count the cost. + Our men were firm and brave, dad, and freely shed their blood, + And many found a grave, dad, beneath the Flanders mud. + + You never say a word, dad, about this awful fight; + Where is your trusty sword, dad? let's get it out tonight. + The other fellows brag, dad, of what their dads have done, + And Jim's dad has a flag, dad, he captured from a Hun. + + And Mr. Sandy Ross, dad, who works down at the mill, + Has a Victoria Cross, dad, for fighting Kaiser Bill; + And little Tommy Dagg, dad, the youngest of your clerks, + Says his dad was at Bagdad, and shot a hundred Turks. + + When we go for a walk, dad, or take our flying car, + You never want to talk, dad, about the mighty war; + Please talk to me tonight, dad, before I go to bed, + Of when you went to fight, dad." + + But dad hung down his head. + + + + +BLASTED HOPES + + + We hoped to end our troubled days + Far from the maddening strife, + Erstwhile to chortle roundelays + Of peaceful country life; + But now the phone rings night and morn, + The trolleys crash and bang; + We hear the fearsome auto horn + Where once the thrushes sang. + + We hoped the children that we raised, + Those stalwart girls and boys; + Would follow in the trail we blazed + That selfish ease destroys; + But now, when men are needed so + To fight the mailed fist, + Our girls won't let their husbands go, + Nor will our sons enlist. + + We hoped the pirates all were dead, + Those horrid buccaneers, + Who dyed the ocean's waves with red, + In wicked bygone years: + But now we mourn, as happy days, + That sanguinary past, + Since Kaiser Bill a hundred ways, + Has Captain Kidd outclassed. + + We hoped that kings had wiser grown + Since Charles I. lost his head, + And Bonaparte was overthrown, + For painting Europe red; + But now we have the greatest kill + Since cave men fought with stones. + Behold the Kaiser's butcher bill! + Ten million dead men's bones. + + + + +LANGEMARK + +May, 1915 + + + The maple leaf is stained with red, + Deeper than autumn's dye; + On foreign fields our noble dead + Their valor testify. + + Cut off, out-numbered, ten to one, + By wolfish German pack + Our men like heroes fought and won, + They kept the Teutons back. + + They held their post, they saved the day, + Those young lions from the West; + What higher tribute can we pay, + "They fought like Britain's best." + + When reinforcements came at last, + Then woe betide the Huns, + From man to man the word was passed + "We must retake the guns." + + Mid rifle ball and poison bomb, + Shrapnel and shrieking shell, + And all the hell of Kaiserdom, + They charged, while hundreds fell. + + With fearless eye and ringing cheer + They made that wild advance, + For life was cheap and glory dear, + Those bloody days in France. + + O, life is short to him who gives + Long years for selfish pay; + In righteous cause, the soldier lives + A lifetime in a day. + + + + +THE CANADIAN ARMY + + + The news, "the Old Land's in it," + Stirred us one August morn, + Then waited not a minute + The fearless British born. + They were the first to offer + To die for England's name + Scorning the shirking scoffer, + Who would not play the game. + + But when the German Kaiser + Of victories could brag, + Canadians got wiser + And rallied round the flag. + The Orangemen, stout-hearted, + The cheery lads in green, + When once the ball was started + In khaki garb were seen. + + A regiment of Tories, + A regiment of Grits, + Discarded party worries + To give the Kaiser fits. + Battalions of free thinkers + and regiments of Jews + And some of water drinkers, + And some that hit the booze. + + A regiment of Chinese, + A regiment of Yanks, + A regiment with fine knees + And bare and brawny shanks, + A regiment of teachers + Who laid aside the birch, + And one of sons of preachers, + A credit to the Church. + + A regiment of Colonels, + Who couldn't get a sit, + (To judge by their externals + They're feeling fine and fit); + A regiment of slackers, + A regiment of thieves, + And one of bold bushwhackers, + All wearing maple leaves. + + Battalions, too, of Frenchmen, + The breed that never yields, + Are making splendid trench men, + On Belgium's bloody fields. + Battalions from the prairies + Now man the smoking tubes; + From London and St. Marys, + A regiment of rubes. + + Thus, to defend the nation, + They rallied to a man, + Our fighting population + So cosmopolitan. + Not one from danger blenches, + They vie in skill and pluck + And when they reach the trenches, + We call them all Canuck. + + + + +FIGHT OR PAY + +October, 1915 + + + The cause of Freedom needs our help, + The Old Land's in the fray, + It's up to every lion's whelp + To either fight or pay. + The bloody Turk and savage Hun + Still ravish, burn and slay, + Each loyal son must man a gun, + Or stay at home and pay. + + Our sisters, mothers, sweethearts, wives, + They nurse, and knit, and pray, + Let men forego their selfish lives, + And either fight or pay. + The call is clear to sacrifice + Our life, our purse, our play; + Ere Honor dies, let us arise + And either fight or pay. + + "England expects from every man + His duty on this day." + 'Twas thus Lord Nelson's message ran + Ere he began the fray. + Shall we our noble heritage, + See crumbling down like clay, + This goodly age, a blotted page, + And neither fight nor pay? + + Nay! While our British blood runs red, + Let those refuse who may, + We'll heed what mighty Nelson said + On old Trafalgar day, + From cottage, castle, palace, hall, + We'll come without delay, + At duty's call, and stake our all, + To fight, or pay, or pray. + + + + +=Rhymes For Children= + + + + +HUNTING THE WERE-WOLF + + + The jungle law is broken; + From forest, field and plain, + The beasts and birds have spoken, + "The traitor must be slain," + The surly bear comes growling, + From out his lonesome den; + He hears the were-wolf howling, + Athirst for blood of men. + + The fierce war eagle screeches + Across the Channel deep, + His scream the lion reaches + And rouses him from sleep; + The busy beaver hiding + In far off northern wood, + The mighty bull moose, striding + In stately solitude. + + The humpy, bumpy cattle, + The tiger from his lair, + Go down into the battle + Beside the timid hare. + The elephant and camel, + The ostrich and emu, + Weird things, both bird and mammal, + And old man Kangaroo. + + All vow, by fur and feather, + Each with one purpose filled, + To work and fight together, + Until the were-wolf's killed. + Meanwhile in war's arena, + Unmoved by tears and groans, + The buzzard and hyena + Pick clean the victim's bones. + + + + +JOHNNIE'S GROUCH + + + 'Cause brother Ben has gone to fight + Across the sea so far, + I like to sit around at night + And read about the war, + But when I think me and my chums + Are fighting Fritz in France, + My ma asks if I've done my sums; + A feller gets no chance. + + And when I'm marching proudly back + With fifty captured Huns, + My dad will say "retire Jack". + That's how they spike my guns. + My teacher's a conscriptionist, + She calls me "Johnnie dear," + But backs it with an iron fist + And so I volunteer. + + I got kept in at school one day + For lessons not half learned, + And when dad asked, "Why this delay?" + I said I'd been interned. + And when our test exams came out + And mine were extra bad, + I said, "We needn't fuss about + A scrap of paper, dad." + + When sister's chap comes round at night, + And pa seems in a rage, + Ma only smiles; she knows all right, + It's just dad's camoflage. + And when I entertain this beau + While Sis puts on her dress, + Sometimes I get a dime, you know; + That's strategy, I guess. + + My dad is getting rather stout, + And hates to mow the lawn; + But when he gets the mower out, + First thing he knows I'm gone; + But when I've trouble with my pa + No matter what it's for, + I make an ally of my ma, + And then I win the war. + + + + +THE TRENCH THAT FRITZ BUILT + + + This is the trench that Fritz built. + + This is the Hun who lay in the trench that Fritz built. + + This is the gun that killed the Hun who lay in the trench that + Fritz built. + + This is the farmer's only son, who mans the gun that killed the + Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built. + + This is the farmer, weary and worn, who raised the son, who mans + the gun, that killed the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz + built. + + This is she, who in youth's bright morn, was wed to the man, now + weary and worn, 'tis she to whom the son was born, who in front of + the battle, all tattered and torn, still mans the gun that killed + the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built. + + This is the slacker, all shaven and shorn, who drives a car with + a tooting horn, and laughs at the farmer weary and worn, and his + wife at work in the early morn, hoeing potatoes and beets and corn, + because the son, who to them was born, is in front of the battle, + all tattered and torn, still manning the gun that killed the Hun, + who lay in the trench that Fritz built. + + This is the maid who treats with scorn the shifty slacker, all + shaven and shorn, and his shining car with the tooting horn, + but honors the farmer weary and worn, and his wife who helps him + hoe the corn, and milk the cows in the early morn, for she loves + the son who to them was born, who in front of the battle all + tattered and torn, still mans the gun that killed the Hun, who + lay in the trench that Fritz built! + + + + +=Nursery Rhymes= + +=Up-to-Date= + + + + +TEN LITTLE SLACKERS + + + Ten little slackers standing in a line, + One went to U. S., then there were nine. + Nine little slackers out for a skate, + One broke his leg and then there were eight. + Eight little slackers playing odd and even, + Got in a mix up and then there were seven. + Seven little slackers sucking sugar sticks, + One got dyspepsia, then there were six. + Six little slackers only half alive, + One got married and then there were five. + Five little slackers were such a bore + The fool killer got one, then there were four. + Four little slackers out on a spree, + Auto turned turtle, and then there were three. + Three little slackers in a canoe, + Simpleton rocked the boat, then there were two. + Two little slackers, one was a Hun, + He got imprisoned, then there was one. + One little slacker, war nearly won, + He got conscripted, then there were none. + One little, two little, three little slackers, + Four little, five little, six little slackers, + Seven little, eight little, nine little slackers, + Ten little slacker men. + + * * * * * + + Jack Sprat can eat no fat, + His wife can eat no lean, + Because upon their platter now + No meat is ever seen. + + Make a cake, make a cake, my good man, + Make it of treacle and cornmeal and bran, + Tick it and pick it and mark it with B, + And eat it for breakfast and dinner and tea. + + Little deeds and mortgages, + Little bonds and stocks, + Help amid financial storms + To keep us off the rocks. + + Little loads of stove wood, + Little jags of coal, + Make our pocket books look sick, + And put us in the hole. + + Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, + Eating his whole wheat pie, + He looked pretty glum for he found not a plum, + And he said, I don't like this old pie. + + Little Tommy Tucker sang for his supper, + What did he sing for? White bread and butter; + But he had to take corn-cake instead of white bread, + With oleomargarine on it to spread. + + Farmer Dingle had a little pig, + Not very little and not very big; + It weighed two hundred or a few pounds over + And brought fifty dollars when sold to a drover. + Then Farmer Dingle stood up and lied, + And Mrs. Dingle sat down and cried, + "Hogs eat so much valuable feed," said he, + "They need," said he, + "Good feed," said she, + So there's really no money in pigee wigee wee. + + One little man went to battle, + One little man stayed at home, + One little man got white bread and butter, + One little man got none, + One little man cried see, see, see, + You'll eat brown bread + Till the war is done. + + Tom, Tom, the piper's son, + Stole a pig and away he run, + "High cost of meat + I've got you beat," + Said Tom, while making his retreat. + + Jack, Nick and Jill went after Bill, + And fought on land and water, + Till Nick fell down and lost his crown, + And Bill went tumbling after. + + There was a crooked man + Who wore a crooked smile, + And built a crooked railroad + O'er many a crooked mile, + He got some crooked statesmen + To play his crooked games, + And they all got crooked titles + Before their crooked names. + + * * * * * + + Sing a song of sixpence, + Country going dry, + Four and twenty booze shops + Selling no more rye. + + When the bars were open, + Whiskey had its fling, + Now we ride the water cart, + Along with George, our king. + + Once dad, in the bar room, + Counted out his money, + Weary mother sat at home, + Patching clothes for sonny. + + Now dad's in the garden + Wearing out his clothes, + Money in his pocket, + Bloom all off his nose. + + + + +=Miscellaneous= + + + + +BEDLAM + +October, 1914 + + + "The world is mad, my masters," + The poet had the facts + To prove this sweeping statement, + In man's punk-headed acts; + For since the day when Adam + Partook of the wrong tree, + We've toiled, and slipped, and blundered; + "What fools these mortals be". + + Take out your horse or auto, + And drive the country roads, + And see the fields and orchards + Bearing their precious loads. + Old Mother Earth produces + With lavish hand and free, + But half is lost or ruined + By man's stupidity. + + Ten thousand tons of apples + Will surely go to waste + While poor folk in the cities + Will hardly get a taste. + We take good wheat and barley + And manufacture bums, + Whose wives and little children + Are starving in the slums. + + The man that's poor as woodwork, + And nearly always broke, + Can somehow find a nickel + To puff away in smoke; + While those who have the money + To eat and drink their fills, + Are sure to over-do it, + And run up doctor bills. + + If, when the times are peaceful + I kill one man, by heck! + They'll call it bloody murder, + And hang me by the neck. + In war-time he's a hero, + Who sends through air or sea + A bomb to blow a thousand + Into Eternity. + + And so, dear gentle reader, + You see, by all the rules, + That earth's whole population + Except ourselves are fools. + + + + +THE CERTAINTIES + + + When icy blasts blow fierce and wild, + Cutting the face like steel, + And summer's heart is trodden down + 'Neath winter's iron heel, + It's all a part of Nature's plan, + So stay and play the game; + Next Spring will bring the violets, + And roses just the same. + + When Pharaoh's lean ill-favored kine + Have grazed the pastures brown. + And, on a parched and starving world + The brazen sun glares down; + Though Canaan's forests, fields and farms, + Are scorched, as with a flame, + There's food in Joseph's granaries + In Egypt just the same. + + When Pharaoh makes the task more hard + For overburdened hands, + And stubble fields refuse the straw + His tale of bricks demands; + What matter if our little lives + Go out in fear and shame? + The waters of the mighty Nile + Flow onward just the same. + + When, at the front, to bar the way, + The Red Sea waters stand, + And Egypt's hosts are close behind, + A fierce relentless band; + Intent their firstborn to avenge, + Their Hebrew slaves to claim: + Look up, and see the pyramids, + Firm standing, just the same. + + When human ghouls hell's lid uplift + To plunder, burn and kill, + And Truth seems driven from her throne, + Say to your heart, "Be still!" + Don't think that Freedom's day is done, + And Honor but a name, + For right still reigns and planets gleam + In Heaven just the same. + + + + +THE FRIENDLY SPIES + +A Tale of Camp Borden + +November, 1916 + +The main camping ground of the Huron Indians was near where Camp Borden +is now situated. + + + Where soldiers build their camp fires, + At night there gather 'round + The spirits of the Hurons + From Happy Hunting ground, + No sentry hears their footsteps, + They need no countersigns; + As silent as the moonlight, + They pass within the lines. + + Fierce shine their dusky faces + As through the tents they glide, + Once more they smell the war paint + And know a warrior's pride; + The white man's modern weapons + Their ghostly fingers feel, + The guns so swift and deadly, + The long sharp blades of steel. + + They nod to one another, + Nor knew so wild a joy + Since, leagued with the Algonquins, + They fought the Iroquois; + Among the sleeping soldiers + They pass the silent night, + And nudge, and smile, and whisper, + "White brother make big fight." + + When shafts of light are breaking + Across the eastern sky, + They wrap their mantles 'round them, + And breathe a soft "Good-bye", + Then vanish like the shadows + That lurk among the trees, + The sentry hearing only + The sighing of the breeze. + + + + +JACK CANUCK TO UNCLE SAM + +April, 1916 + + + Take down your old gun, Uncle Sammy, + All your pockets with cartridges cram; + The war fogs that rise, cold and clammy, + Seem to frighten you some, Uncle Sam. + You once were the first to get ready, + The most eager in Liberty's fight, + Your brain, Unc. was clear, calm and steady, + When you battled for justice and right. + + Time was when each star in Old Glory + Shone for freedom all round the wide world. + The winds and the waves told the story + Wheresoever its folds were unfurled; + But now your good rifle is rusty, + All your work of long years is undone. + Old Glory, bedraggled and dusty, + Is insulted and scorned by the Hun. + + There once was a time, Uncle Sammy, + When the honor of sister or wife, + E'en that of a poor negro mammy, + You'd defend, Uncle Sam, with your life. + But now, what's the matter I wonder, + You see 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 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 crowd + Beside the sea of Galilee. + + O patriot of humble birth, + With heart to help a fellow man, + To reconstruct the things of earth + Upon a nobler, wiser plan; + The curse that mars the lowly born + Will dog your footsteps till your death, + The proud Judeans' words of scorn, + "No good thing comes from Nazareth." + + O mother, when your son lies dead, + You hate this cruel world of blood, + You pay the price, with grief bowed head, + The age-old price of motherhood. + 'Twas thus Eve mourned o'er Abel's loss, + Naomi grieved in tents of Shem, + 'Twas thus she wept beside the cross + Who bore a son in Bethlehem. + + O soldier with the shattered breast, + Beside the shell-swept Flanders road, + The One who gives the weary rest + Knows all the burden of your load. + The anguished thirst, the bitter pain, + A Father's face He could not see, + The hate of man, sin's awful stain, + He bore them all on Calvary. + + + + +EGO + + + The ego of the human race, + The sordid love of self, + We see it in life's hurried chase, + The grafter's greed for pelf. + The horror of the battle field, + The killed, the maimed, the blind, + The beaten foe, too proud to yield, + The ego of mankind. + + The ego of the human race, + The poison in our blood, + The lying tongue, the double face, + Justice and Truth withstood. + The heavy task, the scanty pay, + The beggar with his bone, + The rich young man who went away, + The king upon his throne. + + The ego of the human race, + The subtle serpent's lie + No toilsome years can e'er efface, + "Ye shall not surely die." + Eve still by serpent's word beguiled, + The curse on Ham that fell, + Poor outcast Hagar's starving child, + Cities where Lot might dwell. + + The ego of the human race, + The toil each day brings in, + The idlers in the market place, + The sorrow and the sin; + Bequeathed from pre-historic sire, + In Turk and Teuton still, + The ape's inordinate desire, + The tiger's lust to kill. + + + + +FREEDOM + + + We're fighting now for liberty + Where'er our armies are, + We wouldn't want our king to be + A Kaiser, or a Czar. + We want no rabbi with his book, + No priest in sable stole, + For priest and rabbi ne'er can brook + The freedom of the soul. + + We must be free, to work, or play, + Or loaf, just when we like, + And if we get too little pay, + Be free to go on strike: + And if, perchance, we gain our goal, + And wealth to us should come, + We must be free to take our toll, + From workman's scanty crumb. + + We must be free to hit the booze + That steals our children's bread, + The cash that ought to buy them shoes, + Pour down our necks instead. + We must be free to come and go; + No Russ nor Hun are we, + There's nothing grander here below + Than British liberty. + + But when, from nations drowned in tears, + For crimes by Kaiser done, + The cry goes forth for volunteers + To come and fight the Hun; + We must be free at home to stay, + While others take their chance + "Of finding little homes of clay" + In Flanders or in France. + + + + +TWENTY YEARS AFTER + +November, 1917 + + + Where men make bloody sacrifice, + And pile the earth with slain, + Kind Mother Nature ever tries + To cover up the stain. + 'Mid charnel of the tiger's den + May pure white lilies blow, + And on the graves of warlike men + The peaceful daisies grow. + + The grass is all the greener now + Where men most fiercely strove, + And maids may hear on Vimy's brow + The cooing of the dove. + Where cannon roared by night and day, + And men in thousands fell, + The sunny headed children play, + And pick up bits of shell. + + Where once raged war's infernal din, + And bullets fell like rain + The peaceful peasants gather in + A hundred fold of grain; + And where men plied the deadly steel, + And blood ran red like wine, + We see the holy sisters kneel + Beside the rebuilt shrine. + + And over on the rising ground + The fresh young maples stand + To mark the graves of those who found + Death in a foreign land; + Here women of the nameless woes, + Still pray when day is done, + That God will rest the souls of those + Who strafed the hellish Hun. + + + + +FAITH + +November, 1917 + + + The soldier, when the war began, + Presumed the cause was right, + But didn't ask the campaign's plan; + His duty was to fight. + The child, with all things yet to prove, + Still thinks the world is fair, + While trusting in a mother's love, + And in a father's care. + + The patient 'neath the surgeon's knife + Unconscious is, and still, + The only hope to save his life + Is in the doctor's skill. + The farmer sows in faith his seed, + And trusts the sun and rain, + Meanwhile he fights the choking weed + That grows among the grain. + + The planets in their orbits roll, + The seasons come and go, + The angry seas own God's control, + His care the sparrows know. + But we, by pride made over bold, + Face Providence unawed, + And like the patriarch of old, + Presume to question God. + + Ten thousand prayers in discord rise + From church and cloister dim, + When will we cease our feeble cries, + And trust the world to Him? + 'Tis His the broken heart to bind, + To heal the serpent's bite, + The judge is He of all mankind, + And shall He not do right? + + + + +EVERYBODY HELPING + +March, 1917 + + + If you want a fine new car, + Do without, + If you like a good cigar, + Cut it out, + Thrift will help to win the war, + There's no doubt. + + If you are too old to fight, + You can pay, + If you think war isn't right, + You can pray, + Help to crush the Kaiser's might + As you may. + + If you are a Tory gay, + Or a Grit, + Throw your politics away, + Do your bit, + War is now the game to play; + You are it. + + If you have good things to eat, + Pack a box, + If you are a maiden neat, + Knit some socks, + Keep the soldier's tired feet, + Off the rocks. + + Get a piece of land on spec, + Plow and sow, + There's a place for every peck, + You can grow. + Swat the Kaiser in the neck, + Issue him a passage check + Down below. + + + + +THE WORLD'S OVERDRAFT + +May, 1917 + + + On life's broad fields, whate'er we sow, + 'Tis certain we shall reap; + The watching scribes, above, below, + Somewhere a record keep. + The faithless church, the lying creed + Teaching that wrong is right, + The childless home, the heartless greed, + The jealousy and spite. + + The feasting, selfish, idle rich, + The hungry, hardened poor, + The drunkard lying in the ditch, + The brothel's open door; + Whate'er we do, where'er we dwell, + Whate'er our names or creeds, + They total up in heaven or hell, + The sum of all our deeds. + + We thought the race was to the swift, + The battle to the strong, + Like mariners with boat adrift, + We heard the sirens' song, + We put our trust in armies vast, + In battleships and marts, + We deemed but hoodoos of the past + The prayers from human hearts. + + So heavy grew the moral debt + Of every class and rank, + No further credit could we get + At Satan's private bank. + The wealth bestowed by sea and land + We squandered in a day, + The devil took our notes of hand, + And now there's hell to pay. + + The world will drown in blood and tears, + And famine stalk abroad, + 'Til men repent their sordid years + And humbly call on God. + This cruel war the Kaiser made, + (The worst since Satan fell,) + Will end when all the world has paid + Its overdraft on hell. + + + + +SLACKERS + + + We condemn, as selfish slackers, + Those not willing to enlist + To oppose the Prussian Kultur + And the Kaiser's iron fist, + But they're not the only slackers, + Those who will not go and fight. + For every man's a slacker + Who does less now than he might. + + There are slackers in the pulpit, + In the elder's cushioned pew, + And all through the congregation + There are slackers not a few. + There are slackers in the workshop, + There are slackers on the farm, + And slackers down in Parliament + Whose defeat would do no harm. + + Some munition men are slackers, + And some who store our food. + While they dream of higher profits + And of interest accrued. + We condemn the youthful shirker + And we say his heart's not right, + But there's many an arrant slacker + Not eligible to fight. + + So let each and all get busy, + If we would the Kaiser thrash. + From the man who owns the millions + To the girl who slings the hash, + All the women busy knitting, + All the men out hoeing beans, + For the war may be decided + By the work behind the scenes. + + + + +THE LOYAL BLACKS + +August, 1917 + + + Three years ago the war began, + Three years ago to-day + The Empire's call to every man + Was either fight or pay. + Some men the country well could spare + Their clear-cut duty shun + But all the Blacks have done their share + To help defeat the Hun. + + My brother Jim, who worked by spells + (He had a lazy streak) + Is busy now inspecting shells + At forty bones a week. + And Jack, of course, is rather young, + He's just nineteen or so, + And Tom had trouble with his lung + About twelve years ago. + + My brother Ben would like to fight, + The Kaiser makes him wild, + But if he went 'twould not be right, + He has a wife and child. + I cannot lease my farm and store, + With prices soaring higher, + If times keep good for two years more + I think I can retire. + + Although we didn't volunteer + And learn the soldier's art, + We hold some good positions here + And bravely do our part, + While some the khaki suits have donned, + And in the trenches slave + We put into a war loan bond + Each dollar we can save. + + But there are lots of husky chaps + Could go as well as not, + There's Arthur Mee and Joe perhaps, + Paul Pierce and Barney Bott, + And Peter Jones and Sam Delong, + And Jack Smith's hired man, + And Scotty Moss, and Wesley Strong, + And Billy Barlow's Dan. + + And Robert Green and Walter White, + And others I could name; + When these refuse to go and fight + It is a burning shame; + I think they should be forced to go, + Conscription is the plan + To catch these chaps so very slow + And make them play the man. + + + + +THE TROUBLES OF TINO + + + War pot is still stewing, + Not a sign of peace, + Trouble now is brewing + 'Round the shores of Greece; + Tino needs our pity, + Threatened by the Huns, + Seaboard town and city + Faced by British guns. + If he helps the Germans + Lose his job for life; + If he favors Britain + Has to square his wife. + Holds no trumps nor aces, + Cannot take a trick, + Cards are all queen's faces, + Tino's feeling sick. + Tino never whistles, + Neither does he sing, + Bed of thorns and thistles; + Who would be a king? + + + + +HAS THE WORLD GONE MAD? + +December, 1916 + + + What a lack of reason + In this earthly throng! + In and out of season + Everything goes wrong; + Over there in Europe + Kaiser, king and czar, + Raise a mighty flare up, + Plunge a world in war. + + Neither king nor kaiser + Down in Mexico, + Are the people wiser? + Echo answers, "No!" + There, contending factions + Murder, pillage, burn; + Plunder and exactions + Everywhere you turn. + + Has the world gone crazy? + Are the men all fools? + Is our thinking hazy, + Spite of all our schools? + + + + +THE TREES + + + The wind that through the forest blows + May scatter leaves and blossoms wide. + The parent tree but firmer grows + When by the tempest torn and tried. + + The stately oak withstands the storm + That rocks its boughs in fiercest strife; + The winds that shake its sturdy form + But give a deeper, stronger life. + + The maple leaves are falling fast, + The sugar groves look gaunt and grim, + But sap will flow when winter's past, + And sweetness course through every limb. + + The mighty eucalyptus tree + But sheds its bark at winter's call + Its leaves retain their greenery, + And yield a curing oil for all. + + A seedling in the Maori's time, + Now, toughened by a thousand gales, + Straight stands the kauri in its prime, + Fit mast for proudest ship that sails. + + Drooping its weary fronds, the palm + In sorrow stands on sun-baked plain + Till comes, like blessed healing balm, + The early and the latter rain. + + The noble banyan dying lives, + In youth 'twould shield a single man, + In age its spreading shelter gives + Shade for a prince's caravan. + + No weaklings these, their roots deep down + In Mother Earth retain their hold. + To heaven they raise a leafy crown, + Sound-hearted, loyal, earnest-souled. + + + + +WHO KNOWS + + + =The pessimist= + + Our lot is cast in evil days + We almost lose our faith in God, + We cannot comprehend His ways, + Nor recognize His chast'ning rod. + To stem the Hun's relentless tread, + His hymns of hate, his crimes of Cain + We give our daily toll of dead, + But wonder if 'tis all in vain. + + =The Optimist= + + Brave men must fight, brave men must fall, + Whene'er a tyrant lifts his head; + When Freedom sounds her battle call, + We must not grudge our noble dead. + E'en now the victor's shouts we hear, + On blood bought hill, o'er shell-swept plain; + The end of tyranny is near, + Our struggle has not been in vain. + + =The Socialist= + + If, when our cheering shall have died, + No more for sordid grain we plan, + But shed the hoofs and horns of pride, + And strive to help our fellow man, + So each will get a fair return + For labor done by hand or brain + And none can take what others earn; + The war will not have been in vain. + + =The Anarchist= + + If still the selfish creed we preach + Of pleasure, ease and strife for gold; + Employer, and employee, each + Resentful, greedy, uncontrolled; + Then poor men still will curse the great, + And hellish hordes will rise again + With hungry, hardened, Hunnish hate; + This war will have been fought in vain. + + + + +AFTERWARDS + + + When the war shall have ceased with its sorrow, + Its hunger, and horror, and hell, + In the dawn of a brighter to-morrow, + What tale will historians tell? + Will the nations get records of glory, + Of cowardice, courage or crime, + When the sages record the true story, + To ring down the decades of time? + + We believe that some peoples now broken, + And crushed by the Turk and the Hun + Will arise from their darkness unspoken, + And stand in the light of the sun. + And it may be that Germans, grown wiser + And taught at so fearful a cost, + Will have hanged their contemptible Kaiser + And regained the fair name they have lost. + + We believe that the allies now fighting, + And lavishing billions untold, + Will have found, in the wrong that needs righting, + A service far better than gold; + That in bearing the load of another, + In heeding the cry of the pained, + That in staying the feet of a brother, + Fresh strength for themselves will have gained. + + And some lands that now cravenly study + The getting of guerdons and gain, + May have found their gold blasted and bloody, + And tarnished by tears for the slain; + And because they dishonoured their stations + Were weak when they should have been strong, + May be treated with scorn by the nations, + A byword and hissing among. + + So the scribe will set down in his pages + The story the centuries tell, + That, for sin, death is still the true wages, + And broad the road leading to hell. + + + + +GERMAN SECURITIES FALL + + + The British guns have spoken + And Bill may lose his crown, + The German line is broken, + And saur-kraut is down. + + The gallant French are storming + The Huns with iron hail; + They've given Fritz a warning, + And limburger is stale. + + The Russ is westward pushing, + Herding the Huns like sheep, + Thus ends the big four flushing, + And liverwurst is cheap. + + King Victor's brave Italians + Are driving back pell-mell + The Austrian battalions + And weiners will not sell. + + The Belgians, too, are holding + Their end up with the rest, + They hear the Teutons scolding, + Bologna's past its best. + + Roumanians, and others, + Who now are standing pat + Will call the allies brothers + When lager beer goes flat. + + + + +TROUBLE IN THE TRENCHES + +The true story of the difficulty on the Russian front. + +September, 1917 + + + When Slav and Russ had raised a fuss, + And sent their Czar a-kiting, + Said Givinski to Blatherski, + "We've done enough of fighting." + + "I've got a cough," wheezed Killmanoff, + "From working in the trenches, + I'd rather fight a doggoned sight, + Than put up with the stenches. + + I want to quit and take a sit + In some place clean and brighter, + Let those who like come down the pike + To strafe the German blighter." + + "I've got the itch," growled Dirtovitch, + "Bog spavin and lumbago." + "I'm never dry," swore Goshallski, + "I smell worse than a Dago." + + "This cheese is high," grouched Buttinski, + "No hungry rat would eat it." + "This meat is tough," whined Ivanuff, + "I think we ought to beat it." + + "It makes me mad," stormed Hazembad, + "The prevalence of vermin." + "You've said it right," owned Gotabite, + "I'm lousy as a German." + + Said Takemoff, "Our lives are rough + In these here blooming ditches, + But mine's the worst by half a verst, + Since some guy stole my breeches." + + Their pay was back, their belts were slack, + Each man his troubles blurted. + With empty guns to face the Huns, + Small wonder they deserted. + + + + +THE WORSHIPPERS + + + Wo Sing was just a heathen blind, + A dull insensate clod, + Yet somehow to his darkened mind, + There came a thought of God. + He shaped an idol out of clay, + And to it bowed his knee; + No one had taught him how to pray, + Alas, the poor Chinee! + + An artist took his brush and paint, + And on his canvas board, + He wrought a picture of a saint, + And called it Christ the Lord; + With patient hand, and wondrous skill, + Retouched that kindly face, + But thought it ever lacking still, + In majesty and grace. + + A preacher in his pulpit stood, + (His words the people trust,) + His message was that God is good, + And knows mankind is dust. + He drew a picture of a Lord, + Omniscient, pure and kind, + His thoughts, His purposes, His word, + Too high for human mind. + + The Kaiser has conceived a god, + To rule o'er sea and land, + With strong, remorseless, iron rod, + In Hohenzollern hand; + A god who honors lies and fraud, + And mean hypocrisy, + A boastful, bloody, brutal god, + The god of Germany. + + And thus we all our idols make, + As our conception is, + And pray our Father, but to take, + Our helpless hands in His; + To give us each a ray of hope, + To each a message bring, + Each king and kaiser, priest and pope, + Each humble poor Wo Sing. + + + + +TO JEAN BAPTISTE + + + O Jean Baptiste! do not resist + The military act, Jean; + You like to fight, the cause is right, + (You know this is a fact, Jean.) + When tasks are hard, 'tis not, old pard. + Your way to ever shirk, Jean; + The saw-log jam, mills, woods and dam + All tell how well you work, Jean. + + It isn't fear that keeps you here, + You're active, brave and strong, Jean; + But in this scrap, by some mishap, + We got you going wrong, Jean. + In dear old France, the Huns advance + With bullet, bomb and gas, Jean, + It's hardly square that you're not there; + (Hank Bourassa's an ass, Jean.) + + That we may win, you must begin + To help more in this fight, Jean, + The die is cast, forget our past + Intolerance and spite, Jean, + The things you love may worthless prove, + If you don't get your gun, Jean; + Your woods, and mines, your homes and shrines, + May all go to the Hun, Jean. + + Our kinsmen brave, across the wave, + The Kaiser have defied, Jean, + British and French, in bloody trench, + Are fighting side by side, Jean. + Where duty leads, what matter creeds, + Or what baptismal font, Jean? + So let us sing--"Long live the king" + And join the bonne entente, Jean. + + + + +THE LOST TRIBES + + + We read about the tribes dispersed, + That Israelitish host, + Condemned and exiled, sin-accursed, + Among the Gentiles lost, + We wonder what strange paths they walk, + In what far land they dwell, + Where now does Reuben feed his flock, + And Joseph buy and sell? + + In search of them we vainly roam + Through distant, foreign states, + Then find a people nearer home + With all the Hebrew traits. + They seize the heathen nations' land, + And hold it by the sword, + And deem themselves a righteous band. + The chosen of the Lord. + + They deem themselves a righteous band, + And for religion's sake + They bravely compass sea and land + One proselyte to make. + They drive poor Hagar from their homes + The wilderness to search, + While Abraham, forsooth, becomes + A pillar in the church. + + They scorn their dreaming brother's right + To visions he may have, + And to the warring Ishmaelite + They sell him as a slave. + Unmoved they hear the cry of pain, + Old Jacob's wailing note, + "An evil beast my son has slain, + There's blood on Joseph's coat." + + When wearied on the desert track, + With hunger faint and weak, + Egyptian flesh pots lure them back, + The garlic and the leek. + The fruitful promised land they view, + But fear to enter in. + And wander still, a faithless crew, + The Wilderness of Sin. + + Their enemies before them flee. + Their foemen's gates they hold, + But Esau's birthright still we see + To crafty Jacob sold. + They worship Aaron's golden calf, + But scorn his priestly rod, + And when from Marah's springs they quaff, + They murmur against God. + + Though David's sceptre still remains + With Judah's royal line, + On Leah's sons are bloody stains, + And Ephriam's drunk with wine; + Blind Sampson, by Delilah's shears, + Is made grind Dagon's corn, + But only in a thousand years + Is there a Moses born. + + + + +RELIABILITY + + + Britannia's word was spoken + The feeble to defend, + That promise was not broken, + She kept it to the end. + Britannia's word is good, + Tried, tested, proved in blood, + In every land, 'mid snow or sand, + She for the truth has stood. + + Britannia borrowed millions + In thrifty days of old, + Now, when she asks for billions, + She always gets the gold. + Britannia's note is good, + She signs it with her blood, + Each promise made, she fully paid, + Let cost be what it would. + + Britannia's sons are falling, + The proud, the strong, the gay, + They heard their mother calling, + They would not say her, nay. + Britannia's sword is good, + She draws it when she should, + The flag that flies 'neath all the skies + A thousand years has stood. + + + + +THE McLEANS + + + The heather's on fire. McLeans from the byre, + The hamlet, the city, the wide open plains, + The lairds and rapscallions fill up the battalions + With blue blood, with true blood, the loyal McLeans. + + They hear the drums rattle, they rush to the battle, + (Each man in the clan a base coward disdains), + They die in their glory, the trenches are gory + With red blood, with shed blood of gallant McLeans. + Afar on the heather, where hame folk foregather, + The pibroch is wailing a dirge for the slain, + The women are weeping, their lane vigils keeping, + Sair, sair, are the hearts in the clan o' McLean. + + But mony will stick it, till Kaiser Bill's lickit, + And doontrodden people get back a' their ain, + Then Maids will stop greeting, for soon they'll be meeting + The bonnie brave lads o' the clan o' McLean. + + + + +FARMER JOHN SPEAKS HIS MIND + +May, 1917 + + + Those fellows down in parliament + Have kicked up such a fuss, + That now we seem election bent + To clean up all the muss. + The Grits are sharpening their swords + To give the Tories fits, + While they, with scorching bitter words + Denounce the faithless Grits. + + All out of doors is fresh and green, + But no more green than we + Who help to run the Grit machine, + Or bow the Tory knee. + We hear the strident party call + In words no one believes; + The Liberals are traitors all, + The Tories all are thieves. + + The birds are singing in the trees, + Old Summer's back at last, + The lilacs scent the morning breeze, + The crops are growing fast; + Why should we leave these peaceful scenes, + And don our vests and coats, + To hear those chaps who spilled the beans + Slangwhanging for our votes? + + If we give heed to every tale + Told when the campaign's hot, + The Tories all should be in jail, + The Grits should all be shot. + Let's raise more chickens, calves and shoats, + The politicians shun, + Let's grow more beans and wheat and oats, + And help defeat the Hun. + + + + +WHEN THE GAME ISN'T FAIR + + + As we struggle up life's hillside + Where the road is hard and long, + Weak, discouraged, tired, lonely, + And everything gone wrong. + When we see some men refusing + Their allotted load to bear, + While their brother's back is breaking, + Then we know the game's not fair. + + When we see some men grow wealthy, + While their brothers die in France, + We rebel at the injustice, + And demand an even chance; + When we see some children hungry, + With no decent clothes to wear, + And some other stuffed and pampered, + Then we know the game's not fair. + + When we have to pay high taxes + On our little wooden shack, + Though the mortgage isn't settled + And the interest is back, + When the rich man's stately mansion, + Doesn't pay its proper share, + And he lies about his income, + Then we know the game's not fair. + + When we read in all the papers + How our boys are strafing Fritz, + Throwing bombs into his trenches + For to blow him all to bits, + When we think of him that started + This vile war, then we declare + If the Kaiser goes unpunished + We shall know the game's not fair. + + + + +HEINIE'S HOLLER + + + Britty soon now fife years vill pe done + Since ve march into Belgium von day, + But since den some beeg rifers have run + Troo de pridges, I tink all de vay, + Den already de tings seemed so blain, + Ven ve shtart oudt to lick de whole vorld + Ve vas sure dat us Shermans vould reign + Shoost verefer our flag vas unfurled. + + For to see dat some tings can't pe done + All dose Junker man's heads vas too tick, + Und, inshtead of a blace in de sun, + Ve haf got, vot you call, armyshtick. + Vot dot armyshtick baper's aboudt + I can't get troo dis headpiece of mine + But dose fellers dot von wrote it oudt, + Und us fellers dat lost had to sign. + + Shoost so soon vas dat Armyshtick made + Den dose allies dey run de whole show, + For already deir plans vas all laid + Ven ve back into Shermany go. + Dere vas fellers from England und France, + Und Yankees, Italians und Japs, + Mit some hoboes dat all get a chance + From some blaces not marked on de maps. + + For six months now dey talk und dey shmoke, + Mit no Shermans at all in de game + Und dey tink up von pully goot shoke, + Den dey tell us to write down our name. + Dey vould take all our money und ships, + Und dose blace in de sun dat ve got. + But we ain't handing oudt no free trips, + Und won't sign no beace dreaty like dot. + + + + +WHAT WE WON + + + Was it for this, I want to know, + We saw our boys to Flanders go; + For this that Belgium suffered so, + That France withstood the ruthless foe, + And said "No further shalt thou go," + That Serbia was plunged in woe, + And women wept along the Po; + That Poles were herded to and fro, + And Anzacs died at Gallipo; + That Britain let her plans all go, + Laid bare her breast, and took the blow, + And held the seas 'neath sun and snow + Danger above and death below; + That Uncle Sam, though rather slow + To scrap the doctrine of Monroe, + Got busy at the final show? + + For years of blood and tears, although + We boast the Kaiser's overthrow, + The net results seem these, I trow, + That profiteers pile up the dough, + And gather where they did not sow, + That scythes of death fresh harvests mow, + Where Bolshevists fierce whiskers grow, + And no Hun yet has eaten crow; + That Wild Sinn Feiners, fallen low, + Plan proud Britannia's overthrow, + Save these the world can little show, + But wooden crosses, row on row. + In Flanders fields, where poppies blow. + + + + +THE HOME COMING + +July 1st, 1919 + + + Now that Heinie is licked to a frazzle, + And Fritzie is clipped in the comb, + We're holding a big razzle-dazzle + To welcome our soldier boys home. + They bore themselves brave in the battle + They kept themselves clean on parade, + They herded the Bosches like cattle + In many a nerve-racking raid. + + In order to do the boys justice, + We need all the help we can get, + Without it the contract will bust us + And swamp the committee with debt. + So we want all old timers of Wingham, + (Although the good town has gone dry) + Fast as railroad or auto can bring 'em, + To come on the first of July. + + Perhaps you've grown rich on the prairies, + Your farm in town lots you have sold, + Or, with products of wheat fields and dairies, + Have lined all your pockets with gold, + Or it may be your harp strings are rusted, + Your measures all halting and lame, + Perhaps you're discouraged and busted, + And tired of playing the game. + + If so, come to Wingham this summer, + Forget the world's trouble and strife, + Our program will sure be a hummer, + We'll give you the time of your life. + We'll make no untimely suggestions, + Concerning the length of your stay, + Nor ask you impertinent questions + About what you've done while away. + + + + +=The Opinions Of Fritz= + + + + +FRITZ FINDS FAULT + +("Canadians are using lacrosse sticks to throw hand grenades into German +trenches."--News Item.) + + + "Dere is some tings not right in dis schrap, + For dose English and French don't fight fair + Ven dey pring in de Turco and Jap + Und de Hindu and beeg Russian bear; + But already us goot Sherman mans + Ve vas ending dot var britty quick, + Till dey shtart oop some more dirty blans, + Ven dose poys vill trow bombs mit a shtick. + + Ve don't mind some old rifles und guns, + Nor dose airships und Dreadnoughts und tings, + Ve don't care if dey call us de Huns, + [1] Und ve laugh at de song dat dey sings: + But dose teufels from Canada come, + Dey vould blay us von mean shabby trick, + For ve can't get avay from de bomb + Dat dey trow from de end of a shtick. + + Ven ve tink ve are safe for de day, + Mit goot sausage and saurkraut filled, + Dose Canadians shtart oop to blay + Mit a game dat ve nefer haf drilled. + Ven ve see dose tings fly troo de air + Den already ve feel britty sick; + If dey hit us dey don't seem to care, + Ven dey trow dose old bombs mit a shtick. + + Ven ve shoots all our cartridge avay, + Und de vagons don't pring any more; + Ven our shells get more scarce efry day, + Mit our shirts und our breechaloons tore, + Und de shmokes und de limburger done + (Dot is spreading it on britty tick), + Den I tells you it isn't no fun + Ven dose poys vill trow bombs mit a shtick." + +[Footnote 1: Tipperary] + + + + +FRITZ HAS ANOTHER GROUCH + +(The Germans say that if it hadn't been for the Canadian Rats they would +have got through to Calais.--News Item.) + + + Dere's a ting dat I'll nefer furshtay. + Ven ve shtart oop dat goot poison gas, + Vy dose Rats don't get oudt of de vay, + So us Shermans to Ypres can pass. + Ven ve shoots all our cartridge avay, + Dat's already deir time to retreat; + Vot's de use so ve make de beeg fight, + If dose Rats don't know ven dey get beat? + + Mit de gas dey gets britty soon killed, + Den ve send dem de shrapnel some more, + Und de bombshell mit limburger filled, + Dat vill shmell vorse dan Duffeldorf's shtore; + But dose beggars come back mit a rush, + Und I twice mit deir bay'nets get pricked; + Vot's de use so ve make de beeg push, + If dose Rats don't know ven dey get licked? + + I soon made some goot running, you pet! + Ven dey come like vild teufels behind; + All my life I vill dream of dem yet, + For I tought sure mine bapers vos signed. + Dey came on mit a yump und a yell + Till right into our trenches dey dashed; + Vot's de use so ve trow de beeg shell, + If dose Rats don't know ven dey get smashed? + + Ve haf tried efry blan dat ve knows, + But to scare dem no vay haf ve found, + (How ve vish dey had shtayed vere de snows + Blow dose maples und pines all around). + Day und night dey vill put oop de shcrap, + Und already ve lose vot ve got; + Vot's de use for us setting de trap, + If dose Rats don't know ven dey get caught. + + + + +THE KAISER CONSULTS FRITZ + +October, 1915 + + + Ven der Kaiser vould shtart some beeg shtunt, + All dose shwells den soon come to de front, + Und de prince, und de king + Seem to be de whole ting, + Mit old Fritz at de heel of de hunt. + + But somedimes ven de Kaiser's in doubt, + Und already can't find his vay oudt; + Ven dose hard shpots he hits, + Den he say--"Mine dear Fritz, + Vot you tinks of dis peesness, old Scoudt?" + + So it vas mit dose junkers so shlick, + Dey vould soon end dis var britty quick; + But, shoost after de Marne + De crawl unter de barn, + For already dey feel mighty sick. + + Den der kaiser say--"Fritzie, old chap, + Let me know vot you tink of dis schrap; + Vill ve lick dose beeg shmoke, + Or go britty soon proke, + Mit de faderland viped off de map?" + + Den I say--"Dat's von very hard case; + Can tree jacks beat four kings und some ace? + Ven ve hafn't de card + Ve must bluff britty hard, + Or shoost trow down our hand in disgrace. + + If like checkers ve blay, don't forget + Dey got more men dan ve haf, you bet! + If ve makes some beeg schore, + Und not man off no more, + Ve may shtop mit a draw, maype yet." + + Den der Kaiser say--"Tanks, Mr. Strauss, + On your back dere don't grow any moss; + I'll shoost blay some more pranks + On dose silly old Yanks" + Den he gif me von nice iron cross. + + + + +FRITZ IN THE HOSPITAL + + + Ven der Kaiser his var bugles blow, + Und say: "Fritz, to de front you must go," + Den it vasn't so strange, + I vas glad for de change; + But I hope mine Katrina don't know. + + Britty soon ve're de whole of de show, + Und like vater dose goot liquors flow; + Ven, mit vine und champaigne + Ve got drunk in Louvain, + Dere vas tings mine Katrina don't know. + + Soon already, ve fight mit de foe, + For von year, und it seems britty slow; + If I'm killed in de trench + By dose English und French + Den perhaps mine Katrina von't know. + + So dis time, ven dose hand grenades trow, + Den I tinks soon it's time for to go; + If mine back's full mit lead, + Not mine breast, nor mine head, + Dat's von ting mine Katrina don't know. + + Ven dey takes me some blace down pelow, + Mit tree hundred vite peds in von row; + For dose nice English nurse + [2] I forget dat beeg curse, + But I'm glad mine Katrina don't know. + +[Footnote 2: Gott Strafe England!] + + + + +FRITZ PHILOSOPHIZES + + + Since I'm held in his hospital up, + Mine poor back full mit shrapnel und lead + Ven I tink of der Kaiser und Krupp, + Dere's a ting dat von't come troo mine head. + Vot already I'm tinking aboudt, + To pelieve in mine heart I can't yet, + But de more dat I knows I find oudt + Vy dose Englishmans frightened don't get. + + Ve haf guns dat vill shoot forty miles, + Dat de fort und de city desthroys; + Ve haf Zepps. of de latest new shtyles; + Ve haf millions of men und more poys; + Ve haf hundreds of unterseeboots + Dat all ships from de ocean vill drive, + Und ve kills, und ve burns, and ve shoots + Till dere von't pe no English alive. + + But for none of dese tings vill dey shcare + It's deir nerve (dat's, I tink, vat they call), + Ven ve tink ve haf licked dem, I shwear + Dat dose English shoost laugh und play ball. + But ven Shermans get oudt from de trench, + Den ve crawl avay somewhere to shmoke, + Mit some schooners de beeg thirst to quench, + For already our hearts vas near proke. + + Ven dose English come on mit a run, + Den deir officers lead all de vay; + But us Shermans get chained to de gun, + Vile de boss in some safe blace vill shtay, + Maype dat's vy ve gets de cold feet, + Und dose English don't scare vort a cent; + For a private vil nefer redreat + From de blace vere his leader first vent. + + + + +FRITZ WRITES TO HIS FRAU + + + Dear Katrina--Dis letter I write + From von hospital, somevere in France, + For I get so proke oop in de fight + Dat dis maype vill be mine last chance. + Vell, I hold von whole trench py mineself, + Mit some poys dat shoost come to de front; + Britty soon dey get laid on de shelf, + Den your Fritz have to do be beeg shtunt. + + Ven I shoot all dose English and French, + Den already I tinks I vill shmoke, + Den I hunts von safe blace in de trench, + Vere de rain mit de ground doesn't soak. + Soon I vake mit a punch from a gun, + Und I hear von Canadian say: + "Come mit me, you darned shleepy old Hun," + Den he shteal mine seegars all avay. + + Den de next ting I know I am here, + For already de vorld had turned plack; + Dat Canadian certain vos queer, + For he carry me in on his back. + From mine preast so mooch hardvare got oudt + Britty soon I can shtart von shmall shtore; + If dere's any old junk mans aboudt + Dey might call at dis hospital door. + + Now Katrina don't vorry some more, + Keep de grubs from de cabbage avay, + Und pe sure dat you lock oop de door, + Ven alone in de house you must shtay. + Put some flowers on leetle Karl's grave; + All de time now I'm glad he is dead; + Vot's de use to grow oop shtrong und prave, + Only shoost to get shot troo de head? + + Mine truly, Fritz. + + + + +KATRINA REPLIES TO FRITZ + + + Mine dear Fritz: It shoost makes me feel plue + Ven I get me dat letter you write, + For already mine fears haf come true + Dat you maype get hurt in dis fight, + Vot's de use so you make de beeg splash, + Und you hold de whole trench py your self? + Dat don't put no more meat in mine hash + Und not any more pread on mine shelf. + + Do you tink dat der Kaiser vill care? + If he gifs you von cheap iron cross, + Ven I lose mine own Fritz I can't shpare, + Vot vill dat do to make oop mine loss? + Britty soon all de men haf gone oudt, + Und von't maype come back any more; + Dere's shoost left yet old Hans, mit de goudt, + Und de Duffledorf poy at de shtore. + + You vill now shtay von prisoner yet, + Till already de var is all done, + But perhaps dat's more safer, you pet, + Dan to shtand in de front of de gun. + Dere's shoost von ting I tell you; bevare + Of dose nurse mit de shining plack eyes, + If dey got some pink cheeks, und brown hair, + Your Katrina is double deir size. + + Vot you tink, Fritz? Der Kaiser's men come, + Und de cherries all pick from de trees, + Den dey take all mine apples and plum, + Und mine carrots und cabbages seize; + De potatoes dey got mit de rest, + Und, pecause I vould raise von beeg row, + Dey shoost tell me, pull down mit mine vest + Und dey call me von noisy old frau. + + Yours yet, Katrina. + + + + +FRITZ WRITES AGAIN + + + Dear Katrina,--Dis letter you get + So already you know how I vas; + Vell, dere's von ting dat troubles me yet, + Und I tells you de reason pecause; + Dose nurse doctors you tink vas so gay + Haf de heaves, und blind staggers und gout, + Und dey trow dose nice cabbage avay + Dat vould make me some goot saur-kraut. + + Und de limburger cheese dat you sent, + Dat vas making me feel shtrong und vell, + Britty soon mit the garbage it vent, + For dose nurses dey don't like de shmell. + Ven I ask for pork sausages vonce, + Den dey say, (vot I tells you is true,) + "Don't you know, you fat-headed old dunce, + Dose vill gif you de tic-doul-our-eux." + + Dey von't let me no liverwurst eat; + For dey say it ain't fit for de crows. + Ven I ask for some shmiercase so shweet, + Den dey laugh und dey turn up deir nose, + Dey shoost feed me some custards und jell + Und some broth dat I drink mit a cup, + How dey tink I vill efer get vell + If dey don't keep mine stomach filled up? + + Ven dis var vill get ofer you pet! + Den some pickled pig's feet I vill buy, + Mit bologna and shnapps, maype yet, + Und some coffee to drink ven I'm dry, + Britty soon to mine bed I musht go, + So no more I can't write you shoost now; + Gif mine luf to dose beeples ve know + Und take some for yourself, mine dear frau. + + Mine truly, Fritz. + + + + +KATRINA REPLIES + + + Mine dear Fritz,--Vot to tink I don't know, + Ven dose hospital letters I get, + But mine tears dey vill run britty shlow, + Till I hear some tings different yet, + Ven you're sick like you tries to make oudt, + Vot you vant mit some shmeircase to eat, + Und pork sausages, coffee and kraut + Und limburger und pickled pig's feet? + + I shoost tink you contented might shtay, + Till de var is all ofer und done, + Mit some custards und jells like you say, + Dat is better dan facing de gun. + Ve get nefer such goot tings like dese + Here at home in de old Faderland, + For dose English shut up all de seas + Ven to shtarve us goot Shermans dey planned. + + Ven de men und de poys vent avay + For to fight for de goot Faderland, + Den de vomans must vork all de day + Mit a piece of plack bread in deir hand. + Dere's no meat now, nor butter at all, + Shoost de tings ve can grow in de ground; + Und already I'm getting so shmall, + Dat mine dress vill go twice times around. + + All dat cash in de bank dat ve haf, + Ven de Kaiser's men need it, dey said, + If dey takes efry cent dat ve save, + Schraps of baper dey gifs us instead. + But I fool dose chaps vonce, britty soon, + For I put all de gold in a sack, + Mit your vatch, und mine brooches und shpoon + In de garden I bury dem back. + + Yours yet, Katrina. + + + + +FRITZ LEARNS ABOUT CANADA + + + Vot's de use for some beeples to blow, + Und to make some beeg fools mit demselves + Ven already de tings dey don't know + Vould soon fill all de books on de shelves? + Ven I'm oudt in de hospital yard, + Und go unter de tree mit de rest, + Den I shmoke, und I blay some more card + Mit von chap from de Canada Vest. + + Dis here feller, his name is Von Krink, + Und his fader from Shermany go, + He vill tell me some lies I don't tink, + From de blace vere dose maple leafs grow. + Dat beeg farm of his dad's is so vide + Dey musht drive all deir horses mit shteam, + Und it take dem, to plow down de side, + Von whole veek mit a buffalo team. + + Und to cross dat beeg country, he say, + Dey go five or six days on de train; + Dey could shtick in von corner avay, + De whole Faderland, England und Spain. + Dey haf rivers more beeg as de Rhine, + Und some forests as vide as de sea, + Und dose veat fields, mit homesteads so fine, + Dey vill gif von for notting to me. + + Vot's de use den ve fight, I don't know, + For von shmall shtrip of land py de sea, + For if dis feller tells me vot's so, + Den already beeg fools ve must pe. + Ven dis var vill get ofer, you bet, + So dat me und Katrina can go, + I vill get me von farm maype yet, + From de blace vere dose maple leafs grow. + + + + +FRITZ CAN'T FURSHTAY + + + Seems like someting go wrong mit mine head + Since de day ven I make de beeg fight, + Und mine heart gets so heafy like lead + Ven I dries some more bieces to write. + Dot is vy I so seldom don't wrote + 'Bout some tings dat vill happen to me + Since dose shells, vot you call? get mine goat, + Und I am only von left out of tree. + + Dot Canadian feller, Von Krink, + Ven I say, "nix furshtay" to his talk, + He shoost tells me to take von more tink, + Or already he'll knock off mine plock. + Ven I tells him de tings dat he say + I can't find dem in mine leetle book, + Den he varn me to not get too gay + Britty soon or he'll gif me de hook. + + Den he say dat de Kaiser's a chump, + Und his vorks dey vos shlipping a cog, + Und his crown vill get trowed in de dump, + For he put de whole vorld on de hog; + Dot us Shermans vos all off our base + Und already our goose vos cooked prown; + Britty soon ourselves home ve can chase, + Und den go avay back und sit down. + + Vot he somedimes vould mean I don't know + Ven he gifs me dis foolishness talk, + If I ask him he say, "Shoost go slow, + Mine dear Fritz, ven you're oudt for a valk." + Dot is not like de English I shpoke, + Vot I learn in de books I haf read. + Den no vunder mine heart is near proke; + Und Von Krink says dere's veels in mine head. + + + + +FRITZ IS LEARNING + + + Vile I vait in his hospital yard + For dose holes in mine back to fill up, + Den mine brain it vould vork pritty hard, + Like von vagon dat climbs de hill up. + Vill dis var soon get done, I don't know, + So some more mine Katrina vill shmile, + Vonce we tought ve vould vin long ago + But ve're learning some tings, all de vile. + + Dere seems millions of men mit de gun, + Shoost like ants shwarming oudt of de hill. + From all ofer dis vorld dey haf run + Us goot Shermans already to kill. + Ve believed dat dem French vas no goot, + Shonnie Bull ve vould shtarve in his isle, + Ve vould sink all his ships dat pring foodt, + But ve're learning some tings all de vile. + + It will not pe so easy, I tink, + Shonnie Bull to put down on de floor, + For venefer his ships ve vill sink, + Pritty soon he vas puilding some more, + Dose beeg zepps, und dose unterseeboots + Dat ve make mit de latest new shtyle; + If dey don't always hit vot dey shoots, + Ve must learn some more tings all de vile. + + Ven already ve dakes von shmall town, + Den ve lose him a couple of dimes, + Shoost so soon von beeg hill ve goes down, + Dere's anoder von up dat ve climbs. + Some goot Shermans vos lifing to-day, + In dose drenches for five hundred mile, + Ven dose English und French vill get gay + Den ve show dem some tings, all de vile. + + + + +FRITZ HEARS FROM THE KAISER + + + Yaw, de Kaiser he write me von day, + Shoost so soon he find oudt he get shtuck; + First his letters dey come mit de dray, + Now de're filling von beeg motor truck, + Soon, already, I dells him vot's drue, + Dat some tings don't look goot in dis fight, + Den der Kaiser he feel britty plue, + Und like dis vay to me he vill write. + + "Mine dear Fritz,--Since Von Tirp has gone oudt, + Dere's no von around here I can trust, + So I vant you to dell me, old scoudt, + Vill it pe de vorld power, or bust? + Ven ve licked de Russ, English und French, + Den de Dago und Portugee came, + Seems de deeper ve dig in de trench + De more fellers get into de game. + + Mine beeg armies dey soon melt avay, + Like von shnow pank goes down mit de sun, + Ve keep losing more men efry day, + Und dose bapers say, "notting vas done," + Dose new zeppelin ships vas a fake, + Shoost de fraus und de kiddies dey get, + Und de unterseebootens ve make, + Like de fish dey get caught mit de net. + + Soon our foes take de skin mit de fleece, + So I vant you to hear vot dey say: + If deir talk seems to listen like peace, + Den you send me de vord right avay. + Yaw, mine Fritz, you must dell me some tings, + Shoost so soon you get on to deir track, + Und de feller mine letter dat prings, + Vill already your answer dake back." + + + + +FRITZ ADVISES THE KAISER + + + Mine dear Kaiser,--I'm telling you straight, + Dat ve nefer can vin dis beeg fight, + Dough de Faderland armies vas great, + Dere is udders dat's greater, all right, + Shoost you make de goot beace britty soon, + Right avay, or you notting haf got; + Ven you sups mit de teufel, de spoon + Vill already, somedimes get too hot. + + Shoost cut oudt dat beeg strafe dat you make, + Ven you can't mit dose Englishmans pull, + Und you say it vas all a mistake, + For you lufs your dear cousin, John Bull. + Den you cheat dose fool English some more, + Like for forty long years ve haf done: + Dey'll forget den dose treaties ve tore, + Und no more vill dey call us de Hun. + + You can fix tings quite easy mit France, + Shoost you gif up de Alsace-Loraine, + Den venefer ve see de goot chance + Ve vill march in and take dem again; + Den dere's Russia and Serbia too, + Vill vant pay for de men dat ve kill; + Now I tells you de ting dat you do + You say Austria vill settle deir bill. + + Dere's no trouble vill come from de Yanks, + Since ve mix dem in Mexico up; + Ven a feller get bit vonce, no tanks! + He von't fool any more mit de pup; + For de Belgians some tings must be done; + So shoost bromise de monies to pay, + Till ve get back dose blace in de sun, + Den ve vink, und ve say, "nix furshtay." + + + + +FRITZ ADMITS IGNORANCE + + + Dis old vorld is von uncertain blace, + Dere is so many tings ve don't know, + Ven ve shtart oudt to travel de pace, + Ve can't tell shoost how far ve vill go, + Ve don't know, from de vay a man valks, + How mooch money dat feller may get, + Und dose chaps mit de very smooth talks + May haf schemes in deir heads maype yet. + + Ven some leetle birds shtand on a shtump, + Ve don't know yet de first von to fly; + Ve can't tell, from de paint on de pump, + Shoost how soon de old vell vill run dry; + Ve don't know vy de grass is so green, + Nor vy all plue roses grow red, + How de pod get ouside of de bean, + Und de cabbages get de shwelled head. + + Ve don't know, ven de veather is dry, + Britty soon if ve get some more rains, + Vy dere's many a goot-looking guy + In his head dat don't haf any brains; + Vy de plack card vill alvays come thrump, + Ven a handful of red vons ve hold, + Nor how far can von leedle flea yump + Nor vy mud-turtles nefer get old. + + In dose car, ven ve go for a ride, + Ve can't tell ven dere's someting vill bust, + Und ourselves ve so often haf lied, + Ve don't know any feller to trust; + Ve can't tell yet de end of dis schrap, + Ve may get, ven de fighting is done, + Some varm country, not marked on de map + Dat's more hot dan a blace in de sun. + + + + +FRITZ ON THE ENGLISH + + + Ven I fights mit dose Englishmans yet, + Dere vas tings vy I nefer can't see, + Und, dis time I'm certain, you bet! + Either dey must pe crazy or me. + Dey vill bay von beeg price for a king, + But as soon as he put on his crown, + Und vould try to pe doing some ting, + Dey say,--"Go avay pack und sit down." + + Ven dey get all dose blace in de sun, + Und de blaces vere grows de beeg trees, + Ven already de hard vork is done, + Den John Bull say,--"Shoost go as you blease." + If in Dublin a feller rebels, + Britty soon on a rope he vill shwing, + But go free, so mine newsbaper tells, + If in Ulster he do de same ting. + + Johnnie Bull prings his pread und his meat + From de ends of de vorld far avay, + Vile de lands vere he ought to grow veat, + Dem's de blaces de pheasants will shtay, + Ven he say dat he nefer vill fight, + But vill shtick mit his vork und his blay + Dat vas lies he vas telling all right, + For he fight like de teufel to-day. + + Und dose beeples dat nefer had vorked, + All dose soft-handed ladies und shwells, + Und de fellers dat always had shirked, + Haf got busy now making de shells. + If ve're brisoners, vounded or sick, + Shoost so soon ve fall into deir hand, + Den dey doctor und feed us oop shlick; + Dese are tings dat I can't understand. + + + + +WHEN WILL IT END + +November, 1916 + +Von Krink tells Fritz when the War will end. + + + Ven you tinks dis beeg var vill get done? + (Dat's de ting you hear efryone say.) + Britty soon vill dey lay down de gun, + So I home mit Katrina can shtay? + Vell, I tells you mine friends, vot I tink, + Dat de Kaiser don't know, nor de Czar, + So I shpeak mit dat feller, Von Krink, + Shoost how soon ve can settle dis var. + + "Ve vill not shtop de fight," said Von Krink + "Till de Kaiser climbs down from his throne + All dot Wilhelmstrasse bunch, I don't tink, + Haf deir backs mitout moss ofergrown. + Ve vill take back de Heligoland, + Und dose Krupp vorks to bieces vill shmash, + Ve vill shpoil all dose profits so grand, + Und Miss Bertha can cook her own hash." + + "Und dose blaces vay out in de sun, + Vere de Kaiser such goot money shpends, + John Bull vill shoost tink it fine fun + To divide dem around mit his friends, + Ve vill take all de Kaiser's beeg ships, + Ve vill make free de Kiel canal + Und de Shermans must pass oudt de chips + Ven dey lose de beeg jack-pot next fall. + + "Den berhaps if dey're getting too gay, + Ve vill bang dem a couple of times; + Dat already might be de best way, + For to settle dose submarine crimes. + Ven ve get all dose leetle chores done, + Und some more ve can't tink about yet, + Ve vill hang up de sword und de gun. + But not von minute sooner, you bet!" + + + + +THE KAISER AGAIN CONSULTS FRITZ + + + Mine dear Fritz,--Your advice ven I take, + Und I try dot goot beace talk to shtart, + Den dose fellers all call it a fake, + For dey say it don't come from mine heart; + Vat's de ting to do next, I don't know, + Mit dose bull-headed English und French, + Dey shoost tink dey're de whole of de show + Since they pounded us oudt of some trench. + + Dey are licking us now britty fast, + Like I nefer could tink dey vill do, + Mit beeg guns dey now haf us out-classed, + Und mit airships und teufel tanks too. + Ve must all de hard hammering take + For dose Bulgars und Turks vas no goot, + Seems like now von beeg blunder ve make + Und de game ve haf not undershtoodt. + + Ven ve tink ve vill get some more oil, + Und de oats, und potatoes, and meat, + All dose tings de Roumanians shpoil + Shoost so soon as ve make dem redreat; + Und mine shlack brudder, Tino of Greece, + He gets batted all ofer der ground, + Ven he shtrikes he goes oudt on first base, + Und makes nefer de run all around. + + Britty soon, Fritz, ve someting must do, + Or already ve all vill be killed, + For dose English haf put on de screw + Und our stomachs are nefer half filled. + Vat you tink of dis plan, mine dear Fritz, + In mine head dat already I get, + Dat I take back again Von Tirpitz, + Und Herr Teufel in partnership yet? + + + + +FRITZ WARNS THE KAISER + + + Mine dear Kaiser,--Dose tings vas a fake, + Ven you shtart oop dat untersea show + Und already a pardnership make + Mit Von Tirpitz, Von Teufel and Co. + Ven de try dis same game vonce pefore, + Soon ve lose all dose subs dat ve had, + Und dis time ve vill lose dem some more, + For now even dose Yanks haf got mad. + + Some advice I vould give to you yet, + (It vill shoost take a minute or two,) + Call dose subs all in oudt of de vet, + Dat's already de best ting to do. + You may tink dat old Fritz is a fool, + Und haf maype some axes to grind, + But dose tings dat he learned oudt of school, + Dey vill pring de improvement of mind. + + Since dat day I vas brisoner took, + Und I hafn't got notting to do, + Den I read all dose bapers und book, + Und write maybe a letter or two, + Dere's some tings I already find oudt + Dat de Faderland bapers von't tell, + How dose English, like leetle Hans Shtout, + Haf de pussy cat pulled from de vell. + + All dose English must half deir own vay, + Und so soon as deir foes dey vill shmash, + Like Napoleon dey ship dem avay + Or like Thebaw or Arabi Pash; + So I tells you, mine Kaiser, bevare, + Or you gets yourself soon in a fix, + Saint Helena's old rock is still dere + For de feller dat loses de tricks. + + + + +FRITZ GOES FARMING + +May, 1918 + + + Mine Katrina,--So long since I write, + You vill tink I am dead maybe yet; + If I never come back from dis fight, + Den some udder old feller you get. + Vell I tells you de reason, mine frau, + Vy already mine letters vill shtop, + Ven John Bull soon finds oudt I can plow + Den he vant me to put in de crop. + + In de vorld if dere's not enough veat, + For to make all de beeples some pread, + Den de poor vill get notting to eat, + Und dey all vill go britty soon dead, + So John Bull some potatoes vill sow, + Vere dose rabbits und pheasants haf stayed, + Und de veat, oats und barley vill grow + Vere de tennis und cricket vas blayed. + + To pe oudt on de land it seems good, + Vere dose onions and cabbages grow, + Vere de pigs fall ashleep in de mud + Und de ducks in de vater vill go; + But I vork so hard now efry day, + Und I gets so beeg tired py night, + To dose friends dat I luf far avay + Den I hafn't no courage to write. + + I shoost vork, und I shleep, und I eat, + So I hafn't much news for to send; + You vould hear of de Sherman redreat, + Vell I hopes dis beeg var vill soon end. + All mine troubles I hardly can't bear, + How is tings in de Faderland now? + If ve lose yet, or vin, I don't care, + So I only get back to mine frau. + + Yours ever. + Fritz. + + + + +INDEX TO WAR RHYMES + + + Foreword Page + + Modern Diplomacy 5 + + The Allied Forces 6 + + The Modern Good Samaritan 8 + + Satan's Soliloquy 9 + + The Canadian Way 10 + + The English Woman's Complaint 11 + + Unemployed 12 + + The Hate of Hans 13 + + Hans Begins to Wonder 14 + + +=Recruiting Appeals= + + Jack Canuck 18 + + What Owest Thou? 19 + + A Call to the Colors 20 + + Choose Ye 21 + + The Slacker's Son 22 + + Blasted Hopes 23 + + Langemark 24 + + The Canadian Army 25 + + Fight or Pay 26 + + +=Rhymes for Children= + + Hunting the Were-Wolf 30 + + Johnnie's Grouch 31 + + The Trench that Fritz Built 32 + + +=Nursery Rhymes--Up-to-Date= + + Ten Little Slackers 34 + + Jingles 35 + + +=Miscellaneous= + + Bedlam 38 + + The Certainties 39 + + The Friendly Spies 40 + + Jack Canuck to Uncle Sam 41 + + Sammy 42 + + France to Columbia 43 + + Jim's Sacrifice 44 + + The Orgy of Thor 45 + + Motes and Beams 46 + + Nurse Cavell 47 + + 'Twas Ever Thus 48 + + Ego 49 + + Freedom 50 + + Twenty Years After 50 + + Faith 51 + + Everybody Helping 52 + + The World's Overdraft 53 + + Slackers 54 + + The Loyal Blacks 55 + + The Troubles of Tino 56 + + Has the World Gone Mad? 57 + + The Trees 57 + + Who Knows 58 + + Afterwards 59 + + German Securities Fall 60 + + Trouble in the Trenches 61 + + The Worshippers 62 + + To Jean Baptiste 63 + + The Lost Tribes 63 + + Reliability 65 + + The McLeans 65 + + Farmer John Speaks 66 + + When the Game Isn't Fair 67 + + Heinies' Holler 68 + + What We Won 69 + + The Home Coming 69 + + +=The Opinions of Fritz= + + Fritz Finds Fault 72 + + Fritz Has Another Grouch 73 + + The Kaiser Consults Fritz 74 + + Fritz in the Hospital 75 + + Fritz Philosophizes 76 + + Fritz Writes to His Frau 77 + + Katrina's Reply 78 + + Fritz Writes Again 79 + + Katrina Replies 80 + + Fritz Learns About Canada 81 + + Fritz Can't Furshtay 82 + + Fritz Is Learning 83 + + Fritz Hears from the Kaiser 84 + + Fritz Advises the Kaiser 85 + + Fritz Admits Ignorance 86 + + Fritz on the English 87 + + When Will It End 88 + + The Kaiser Again Consults Fritz 89 + + Fritz Warns the Kaiser 90 + + Fritz Goes Farming 91 + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + "Wayfarer" is a pseudonym of Abner Cosens. + + Left one instance of Alsace-Lorraine and one of Alsace-Loraine + Left one instance of out-classed and one of outclassed + Left one instance of saur-kraut and four of saurkraut + Page 7: Changed Isproud to Is Proud + Page 7: Changed belicose to bellicose + Page 12: Changed Englishamn to Englishman + Page 21: Changed infull to in full + Page 22: Changed Kaser to Kaiser + Page 25: Changed birth to birch + Page 26: Changed popluation to population + Page 32: Changed gun tha killed to gun that killed + Page 32: Changed killed he Hun to killed the Hun + Page 35: Added title JINGLES to match index + Page 39: Changed stanza 5 to the correct line ordering + Page 40: Changed silient to silent + Page 41: Changed your to you + Page 48: Changed Briitsh to British + Page 57: Changed parents to parent + Page 61: Changed Blathersi to Blatherski + Page 68: Changed shart to shtart + Page 73: Changed Vat's the us to Vot's the use + Page 73: Changed dont' to don't + Page 78: Changed under to und + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War Rhymes, by Abner Cosens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR RHYMES *** + +***** This file should be named 19358.txt or 19358.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/5/19358/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Joseph R. 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