Rookie Rhymes, By The Men Of The 1st And 2nd Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York Part 7

The Second cried, "Before I died I hurled the foe to h.e.l.l."

As for the Third, he spoke no word But hastened on his way, Until at last a whisper pa.s.sed: "How did _you_ die today?"

"There was a maid slept unafraid Within a hut," he said.

"I searched the place and for a s.p.a.ce I thought that all had fled.

"But her breast glowed white in the morning light As the early dawn grew red; Tiptoe I came in l.u.s.t and shame And stood beside her bed.

"And there I fought an evil thought And won--and turned to go; Then as I went into my tent A bullet struck me low."

The others heard and spoke no word (For dead men understand), But 'round they turned and their deep eyes burned As they gripped his leaden hand.

TO THE LITTLE BLACK DOG

We see you in the morning When Reveille implores; We meet you in the evening At end of daily ch.o.r.es.

On march, fatigue, or drilling Our friend we find you still, With kindly, pleasant bearing And independent will.

You're small, you're thin, you're homely, You're battered, scratched, and lame; But in our tasks before us Pray G.o.d we be as game!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

WHEN EAST IS WEST

See that man in khaki clothes, Squirming in the dust; Toying with a sketching board, Uniform all mussed.

Squinting 'long a little stick, Grunting fit to bust-- Turning out a road sketch For his Captain.

First he drills a "starting point."

Then he takes a "shot;"

Someone's scare-crow gets a line, Closes Jones's lot.

Paces stiffly down the road, Worried--tense--and hot-- Turning out a road sketch For his Captain.

Now an "intersection point;"

Watch the compa.s.s turn.

Think to see him finger it Bloomin' thing would burn.

Missed an inch by motor truck; Eyes it proud and stern-- Turning out a road sketch For his Captain.

Plants an orchard in the road; Leaves a forest bare.

Runs a railroad through a house; Fakes a village square.

Twenty contours in a swamp, Thirteen in the air-- Calls the thing a road sketch For his Captain.

TO MY SWEETHEART

I love you when the bugle Calls, "Awake, the day's begun!"

I love you as we work and Sweat and drill beneath the sun.

I love you at retreat, and When the sun sinks out of view; Sweetheart of mine! quite all the time, I--love--you.

PLAY THE GAME

When everything goes wrong And it's hard to force a song, The proper stunt we claim, Is to grin, and play the game.

If things break worse than fair, Say the Frenchmen, "_C'est la Guerre_."

Which to them is just the same, As to grin, and play the game.

If you find the mess is punk-- Kidney beans and other junk-- Try to eat it just the same; Stretch a grin, and play the game.

When for nothing you've been bawled, Though you've done your best get called, And you know you're not to blame; Force a grin, and play the game.

When we're hit by some big sh.e.l.l, And almost catch a glimpse of h.e.l.l; When we think how close we came, We'll just grin, and play the game.

While our work is being done We will show the mighty Hun, In the land from whence we came, How we grin, and play the game.

When the last long line is pa.s.sed, And the victory's ours at last, Greater far will be the fame, If we've grinned, and played the game.

THE STADIUM, PLATTSBURG

I hear the mighty song of singing men Cras.h.i.+ng among the pine-trees through the night, And thund'ring, trumpet-wise, down every glen, A song to France, whose soul is bleeding white.

But hark!--out rings a deeper, stronger cry.

A Nation, which has newly learned to give, Is singing as its sons go forth to die, Because, G.o.d knows, they're going forth--to live!

O little Maid of France, who rests in Heaven, Crowned with the Lilies Three (and Lilies Seven), Send us the clear-eyed Faith that came to thee, Praying beneath the pines, in Domremy.