The Bee's Bayonet Part 16

BENEATH A CLOUD

Under a pa.s.sing cloud the moon was hid.

I really was delighted to be rid Of _Super_ light, for I was with my Nell, And I could see by her bright eyes as well.

We didn't need the aid of spheres above, For that's _our_ proper sphere--a making love.

Midst whispering pines we pledged our love aloud, And thus our plight began _beneath a cloud_.

THE COLUMBIAD

AMERICA! Our home, our native land!

The joy of it--the rapture! when we say-- We who are freemen and can understand-- This is our heritage--the U. S. A.!

Hewn from the virgin forests by our sires, And launched by giants capable and true, Our s.h.i.+p of State was manned, when Freedom's fires Were beacon lights, by st.u.r.dy, G.o.dly crew,-- And so hath kept, steered by the Guiding Star Of Faith, her steadfast course, thru shoal or blast, Aloof from sirens luring from afar, With Stars and Stripes still waving at the mast.

Here in our Land, where Plenty hath its store, Where fertile fields teem with abundant grain, Hunger ne'er casts its shadow on the door, And Famine hath no lodge on hill or plain.

In truth doth Luxury with Plenty vie To fill our laps with all the luscious things That Nature doth provide--loath to deny The satisfaction that such bounty brings.

To us was Freedom's heritage bequeathed To have and hold while life and pride remain: And so our sword must ever be unsheathed To guard this priceless boon from hurt or stain-- So that the war-worn hosts in Europe's maze, Who fight against the Despot's ruthless spear, May see the light of Liberty ablaze, Diffusing matchless splendor over here; And, friendly beacon, be to them a sign And Bow of Promise, in their dismal sky, The Light of Hope eternally to s.h.i.+ne In G.o.d's resplendent galaxy on High.

But grim starvation, at the board, presides Across the seas, where once the farmsteads poured Autumnal wealth--and Desolation rides Rough shod along where tramped the Prussian horde.

No life remains: the fields are stark and sere; The forests, leaf and branch and root, are fled; The flowers lie trampled on the soldier's bier: Destroyed are e'en the shelters of the dead.

The gardens that held plenty in their wombs Are stripped and barren as the sands of Dearth, And now, instead, keep vigil o'er the tombs Of demiG.o.ds, redeemers of the Earth.

The vineyards where the fragrant fruitage hung To cheer the peaceful peasant in his toil Are desolate where Death his shroud has flung Upon the breadth of France's sacred soil.

Wrecked are the homesteads: buzzard broods abound Where sh.e.l.l-holes gape, and heaps of carnage rise Above the naked bosom of the ground, Mutely denying guilt, in sacrifice.

Still with the jackal at her wounds doth France Fight on unmindful of her pains, and lo!

We hear her call and, seizing s.h.i.+eld and lance, Crusader-like, to her a.s.sistance go.

Her cause is just: we make her Cause our own!

For Liberty doth in the balance swing, And we must guard her, if we fight alone To rid the world of this malignant _Thing_ That, in the guise of Kultur, hides its hoofs And horns, its tail and spear and hideous face, And, as a pious priest, on Moslem roofs, Extols itself, usurping Allah's place.

What blasphemy! Obsessed to germinate Its propaganda, its infernal cult; Condoning Cain's offense, instilling hate, It strikes with poison, dirk and catapult Against the precepts of the Prince of Peace; Against the Conscience of the Universe.

But hatred, l.u.s.t and war will never cease Until G.o.d's Sword destroys this monstrous curse.

Audaciously the Priests of Kultur strive To spread their doctrine, but the graven G.o.d Against the Living Christ cannot survive, And in His time will scourged be with His rod.

And so our s.h.i.+p of State to battle hastes, All sails a-drawing, sheets secure and taut, Manned by a stalwart crew, stripped to the waists, Inspired by battles that our fathers fought.

In port at last whence Lafayette once sailed To aid our fight that made Britannia halt, They take their stand where Frenchmen never failed To hold the Verdun forts against a.s.sault.

A mighty effort this! To send our force Three thousand miles, thru shark-infested sea, Beneath dark skies where vultures lay their course, To face the foe and ransom Liberty, Thru sacrificial offering of our sons; To arm and clothe five million men, and then Build, to convey and feed them, countless tons Of mighty vessels--transports, merchantmen; To furnish, in addition, vast supplies To allied Powers whose Cause we have embraced, To hearten them--to strengthen friendly ties And stay the hand that layeth Europe waste.

A task indeed! But let it not be thought By foemen or by those whom we befriend That Liberty our trust, so dearly bought, Will not be guarded to the very end.

Tho Hercules the Strong should heave in sight And challenge us to tests of thews and nerve, We'd enter the arena in our might And win new honors for the Land we serve; For Antaeus and all the myths of old 'Gainst whom the supermen of yore engaged, Were never half so mighty, half so bold As peaceful freemen, righteously enraged: And all the modern Bullies who presume To dominate the world against the Right, Must see their day-dreams doomed to blackest gloom When Truth prevails against the Imps of Night.

So let us fabricate in forge and mill; So let us plant and nurture grain and seed; So let us labor and conserve until There be an end to Kultur's cruel creed.

Each one of us must fight or toil or save; _Co-ordination_ be our battle song; Hards.h.i.+ps endure and gravest dangers brave If we would victors be and right the wrong.

G.o.d's ways to mortal eyes are not revealed, But Faith our guidance is thru War's grim task, And with His help the _Hosts of Sin_ must yield And Satan be denuded of his mask.

HE'S ALL RIGHT, BUT--!"

I like the good old-fas.h.i.+oned way-- A handshake or a slap,-- The boys who jab your ribs and say "You're all right, Bill, Old Chap!"

I like the lad who sees you first And always shouts your name,-- Who, tho your luck be at its worst, Says--"Cheer up, Bill! Be game!"

I like the chum who's always glad To soothe you when you're ill,-- Who, when he finds you broke and sad, Says--"Here's a Dollar, Bill!"

I'd like to grab him by the throat And hold his mouth tight shut,-- Who, questioned, makes you out the goat-- "Who? Bill? He's all right, _but_--!"

NATURE'S STUDIO

Go where the winds keep vigil o'er the trees, Rocking the tender saplings in the breeze; Go where the sunbeams play on rill and stream, Making the purling waters all agleam; Go where the birds rehea.r.s.e their songs and trills In cool retreats, led by the Whippoorwills; Go where the bees, midst clover blooms, indulge Their honey habit till their bellies bulge; Go where the trout, in alder-arbored brooks, Abate their hunger but eschew the hooks; Go where the flowers, by fairy weavers spun, Pour out their grateful incense to the Sun; Go where the deer in secret nooks disport And Nature, clad in verdure, holds her Court; Go where--nay, stay! Yonder the artist stands, With brush and prismy palette in her hands, Before her easel, where the canvas seems A masterpiece in wondrous color schemes.

What artistry! What fascinating views Dame Nature paints! Behold the rainbow hues That tint the dainty flowers and make the rose Blush to its sepals when it seeks repose; That tinge the moors and fields and turquoise sky, And stain the Autumn leaves with crimson dye!

So tarry here, where moss and bluebells grow Upon the floor of Nature's Studio!

PICARDY

With heads uncovered and with cautious tread Approach ye here! where lie our martyred dead In graves unmarked, here, there and everywhere: So lest, ashamed, ye trample them, beware!

AMERICA'S PRAYER

G.o.d bless our Allies! d.a.m.n the Huns!

And consecrate our swords and guns!

EPILOGUE

They say that a st.i.tch that is timely saves nine: You haven't your needle? O, well then, take mine; And all my Dream Outfit--my pipe and my dope!

I've smoked my last hemp _to the end of my rope_.