Poems of American Patriotism Part 22

In the Gates of Death rejoice!

We see and hold the good-- Bear witness, Earth, we have made our choice With Freedom's brotherhood!

Then praise the Lord Most High Whose Strength hath saved us whole, Who bade us choose that the Flesh should die And not the living Soul!

_To the G.o.d in Man displayed-- Where e'er we see that Birth, Be love and understanding paid As never yet on earth!_

_To the Spirit that moves in Man, On Whom all worlds depend, Be Glory since our world began And service to the end!_

ANNAPOLIS

WALDRON KINSOLVING POST

[Sidenote: April, 1917-November, 1918]

_This tribute to the Naval Academy at Annapolis was written while the American squadron of destroyers was helping to preserve the freedom of the seas._

The mother sits by Severn side, Where Severn joins the Bay, And great gray s.h.i.+ps go down the tide And carry her sons away.

They carry them far, they carry them wide, To all the Seven Seas, But never beyond her love and pride, And ever the deathless tales abide They learned at the Mother's knees.

Stern she is, as well becomes The nurse of gentle men, Who trains their tread to roll of drums, Their hands to sword and pen.

Her iron-blooded arteries hold No soft Corinthian strain; The Attic soul in a Spartan mould, Loyal and hardy, clean and bold, Shall govern the roaring main.

They come from South, they come from North, They come from East and West; And who can say, when all go forth, That any of these are best?

With names unknown, and names that won Their fame in a hundred fights, The admiral's son, and the ploughman's son, Mothered by her, they all are one, Her race of sailor knights.

Young and eager and unafraid, As neophytes they kneeled And watched their arms, and only prayed "Keep stain from every s.h.i.+eld."

Naught else they fear as they hunt the foes Through fog, and storm, and mine, Keen for the joy of the battle blows; But G.o.d make strong the hearts of those Who love, and are left behind.

YANKS

JAMES W. FOLEY

[Sidenote: 1917-1918]

O'Leary, from Chicago, and a first-cla.s.s fightin' man, For his father was from Kerry, where the gentle art began: Sergeant Dennis P. O'Leary, from somewhere on Archie Road, Dodgin' sh.e.l.ls and smellin' powder while the battle ebbed and flowed.

And the captain says: "O'Leary, from your fightin' company Pick a dozen fightin' Yankees and come skirmis.h.i.+n' with me; Pick a dozen fightin' devils, and I know it's you who can."

And O'Leary, he saluted like a first-cla.s.s fightin' man.

O'Leary's eye was piercin' and O'Leary's voice was clear: "Dimitri Georgoupoulos!" And Dimitri answered "Here!"

Then "Vladimir Slaminsky! Step three paces to the front, For we're wantin' you to join us in a little Heinie hunt!"

"Garibaldi Ravioli!" Garibaldi was to share; And "Ole Axel Kettleson!" and "Thomas Scalp-the-Bear!"

Who was Choctaw by inheritance, bred in the blood and bones, But set down in army records by the name of Thomas Jones.

"Van Winkle Schuyler Stuyvesant!" Van Winkle was a bud From the ancient tree of Stuyvesant and had it in his blood; "Don Miguel de Colombo!" Don Miguel's next of kin Were across the Rio Grande when Don Miguel went in.

"Ulysses Grant O'Sheridan!" Ulysses' sire, you see, Had been at Appomattox near the famous apple-tree; And "Patrick Michael Casey!" Patrick Michael, you can tell, Was a fightin' man by nature with three fightin' names as well.

"Joe Wheeler Lee!" And Joseph had a pair of fightin' eyes; And his granddad was a Johnny, as perhaps you might surmise; Then "Robert Bruce MacPherson!" And the Yankee squad was done With "Isaac Abie Cohen!" once a lightweight champion.

Then O'Leary paced 'em forward and, says he: "You Yanks, fall in!"

And he marched 'em to the captain. "Let the skirmis.h.i.+n' begin."

Says he, "The Yanks are comin', and you beat 'em if you can!"

And saluted like a soldier and first-cla.s.s fightin' man!

ANY WOMAN TO A SOLDIER

GRACE ELLERY CHANNING

[Sidenote: 1917, 1918]

The day you march away--let the sun s.h.i.+ne, Let everything be blue and gold and fair, Triumph of trumpets calling through bright air, Flags slanting, flowers flaunting--not a sign That the unbearable is now to bear, The day you march away.

The day you march away--this I have sworn, No matter what comes after, that shall be Hid secretly between my soul and me As women hide the unborn-- You shall see brows like banners, lips that frame Smiles, for the pride those lips have in your name.

You shall see soldiers in my eyes that day-- That day, O soldier, when you march away.

The day you march away--cannot I guess?

There will be ranks and ranks, all leading on To one white face, and then--the white face gone, And nothing left but a gray emptiness-- Blurred moving ma.s.ses, faceless, featureless-- The day you march away.

TO PEACE, WITH VICTORY

CORINNE ROOSEVELT ROBINSON

[Sidenote: November 11, 1918]

I could not welcome you, oh! longed-for peace, Unless your coming had been heralded By victory. The legions who have bled Had elsewise died in vain for our release.

But now that you come sternly, let me kneel And pay my tribute to the myriad dead, Who counted not the blood that they have shed Against the goal their valor shall reveal.

Ah! what had been the shame, had all the stars And stripes of our brave flag drooped still unfurled, When the fair freedom of the weary world Hung in the balance. Welcome then the scars!

Welcome the sacrifice! With lifted head Our nation greets dear Peace as honor's right; And ye the Brave, the Fallen in the fight, Had ye not perished, then were honor dead!