War Rhymes by Wayfarer Part 3

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 h.o.a.rd 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 wors.h.i.+p 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 G.o.d 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 h.e.l.lish 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 h.e.l.l."

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 h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.+rker'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 n.o.ble 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.