Great Poems of the World War. William Dunseath Eaton
with a murderous fire, they went Till the Teuton line was vanquished and the German strength was spent.
Ebbed and flowed the tides of battle as they’ve seldom done before;
Slowly, surely, moved the Yankees against all the odds of war.
For the honor of the fallen, for the glory of the dead,
The living line of courage kept the faith and moved ahead.
They’d been ordered not to falter, and when night came on they stood
With Old Glory proudly flying o’er the trees of Belleau Wood.
“POOR OLD SHIP!”
C. FOX SMITH
in Punch
Reproduced by special permission of the Proprietors of “Punch”
SHE wasn’t much to brag about, she wasn’t much to see,
A rusty, crusty hooker as a merchant ship could be;
They sunk her off the Longships light as night was coming on,
And we had to go and leave her there and, poor old ship, she’s gone.
All that was good of her, all that was bad of her,
All that we gave to her, all that we had of her,
Poor old ship, she’s gone!
The times we spent aboard her, they was oftener bad than good,
But bad or good, we’d live the lot all over if we could;
She’s stood her trick as well as us, she’s had her whack of fun,
She’s shared it all with sailormen, and poor old ship, she’s done.
Hard times and soft times and all times we’ve been with her,
Bad days and good days and all sorts we’ve seen with her,
And, poor old ship, she’s done!
She’s stuck her crazy derricks up by half a hundred quays,
She’s dipped her dingy duster in the spray of all the seas;
Her funnels caked with Cape Horn ice and blistered in the sun,
She’s moseyed round above a bit, and, poor old ship, she’s done.
North seas and south, and they’ve all had a go at her,
Hot winds and cold, and they’ve all had a blow at her,
And, poor old ship, she’s done!
She’s trailed her smudge the whole world round in weather gray and blue,
She’s churned a dozen oceans with her bloomin’ nine-knot screw;
She’s sampled all the harbor mud from Cardiff to Canton,
And she’ll never clear another port, for, poor old ship, she’s gone.
Ports up and down, and she’s seen many a score of ’em;
Seas high and low, and she won’t sail no more of ’em,
For, poor old ship, she’s gone!
And chaps that knowed her in her time, ’tween London and Rangoon,
In many a sailor’s drinking-place and water-front saloon,
Will set their drinks down when they hear her bloomin’ yarn is spun, And say, “I sailed aboard her once, and, poor old ship, she’s done. Many’s the hard word I once used to spend on her, Ah, them was the great days, and now there’s an end on her, Poor old ship, she’s done!”
PASSING THE BUCK
SERGT. NORMAN E. NYGAARD, 313TH SN. TN.
in The Stars and Stripes, A.E.F., France
THE Colonel has a job to do
That’s really hard, and puzzling, too;
He can’t quite figure what it needs,
So hands it out to Major Heeds.
And Major Heeds he thinks it o’er,
And thinks it o’er and o’er some more,
And he can’t make it out at all,
So Captain Jones, he takes a fall.
The Captain shoves his helmet back,
And puts his brains all on the rack;
But “D—n” is all that can be said,
And then it’s up to First Loot Head.
O’ course, he “knows,” but hasn’t time—
The work they shove on him’s a crime;
This, and then lots more to boot,
So on it goes to the Second Loot.
Now Lieutenant Young is just a kid,
A baby mouth by an eyebrow hid;
A job like that would knock him cold,
He hands it down to Top-soak Gold.
The Top-soak, ’course, is swamped with work;
It never was his plan to shirk,
But Sergeant Reed, he’s just the man,
He’ll sure do it if any can.
But that old sarge must sleep a lot:
This biz of overworkin’s rot;
He gives the Corp’rul loads of gas,
And so that duffer takes a pass.
But Corp’ruls don’t know what to do,
They’re only built for bossing, too;
So Corp’rul Jenks, he says he’s stuck,
And hands it on to a common buck.
And when the job is finished right,
And all the things are clear as light,
Why, then, it’s found by all the Fates,
The job was done by Private Bates.
An’ it’s passin’ the buck,
An’ a-passin’ the buck,
An’ a-passin’ the buck along,
An’ on with the buck
With the best o’ luck,
An’ I hope you come out wrong.
THE RETURN
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