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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by 
+The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Rookie Rhymes
+
+Author: The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+Illustrator: C. L. Yates et al
+
+Release Date: November 10, 2010 [EBook #34269]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKIE RHYMES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Let's Go!!]
+
+
+
+
+ROOKIE RHYMES
+
+BY THE MEN OF THE 1st. and 2nd. PROVISIONAL TRAINING REGIMENTS
+PLATTSBURG, NEW YORK
+
+MAY 15--AUGUST 15 1917
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+          NEW YORK AND LONDON
+
+
+
+
+          ROOKIE RHYMES
+
+          Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
+          Printed in the United States of America
+          Published September, 1917
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  _Page_
+
+  PUBLICATION COMMITTEE                               13
+
+  FOREWORD                                            15
+      Robert Tapley, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+
+  PART I--POEMS
+
+  STANDING IN LINE                                    19
+      Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE FIRST TIME                                      21
+
+  ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE                            22
+      D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME                        24
+      Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS                    29
+      Robert Cutler, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  "AVOIRDUPOIS"                                       31
+      D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P.T.R.
+
+  GO!                                                 35
+      J. S. O'Neale, Jr., Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  THE PLATTSBURG CODE                                 36
+      R. L. Hill, Co. 5, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  A CONFERENCE                                        38
+      Donald E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  SUNDAY IN BARRACKS                                  41
+      Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY                      43
+      Pendleton King, Co. 6, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  GIRLS                                               51
+      Robert M. Benjamin, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A LAMENT                                            52
+      H. Chapin, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE MANUAL                                          53
+      George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS                             55
+      Frank J. Felbel, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  SATURDAY P.M.                                       58
+      Harold Amory, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED                             62
+      C. K. Stodder, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  ARMA FEMINAMQUE                                     63
+      W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  OUT O' LUCK                                         65
+      W. K. Rainsford, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  SHERMAN WAS RIGHT                                   69
+      Joe F. Trounstine, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  TROOPSHIP CHANTY                                    70
+      Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  THOSE RUMORS                                        71
+      F. L. Bird, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WAR'S HORRORS                                       72
+      Kenneth McIntosh, 2d Lieut. O. R. C., Co. 4,
+                 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE CALL                                            73
+      Allen Bean MacMurphy, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  BEANS                                               74
+      Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  FORWARD "?"                                         77
+      John W. Wilber, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  CHANT OF A DERELICT                                 78
+      Ed. Burrows, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  PREOCCUPATION                                       80
+      Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  INOCULATION DAY                                     83
+      Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  DON'T WEAKEN                                        85
+      R. T. Fry, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE THREE                                           87
+      Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  TO THE LITTLE BLACK DOG                             89
+      A. N. Phillips, Jr., 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WHEN EAST IS WEST                                   90
+      W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  TO MY SWEETHEART                                    92
+      Every Rookie in Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  PLAY THE GAME                                       93
+      E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE STADIUM, PLATTSBURG                             95
+      Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE                  96
+      W. Kerr Rainsford, Co. 7, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  DREAMS                                              99
+      L. Irving, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A 2D REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO"                          101
+      J. Elmer Cates, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  EUREKA                                             105
+      E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  FOURTH COMPANY, N. E. SONG                         106
+      George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
+
+
+  PART II--SONGS AND PARODIES
+
+  LONG, LONG TRAIL                                   109
+      G. Gilmore Davis, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WILLIE'S PA                                        110
+      J. Felbel and L. H. Davidow, Co. 2, 2d
+        P. T. R.
+
+  COMPANY 2, NEW ENGLAND                             112
+      Paul J. Field, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  TO THE RESERVE CAVALRY                             113
+      F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO DEUTSCHLAND                    114
+      Lieut. Fletcher Clark, O. R. C., Co. 10,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  I WANT TO BE A COLONEL                             115
+      F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  I WANT TO BE A DOUGHBOY                            116
+      Kenneth Bonner, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  OUR BATTLE HYMN                                    117
+      James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  NEW ENGLAND WILL BE LEADING                        119
+      Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE                    120
+      J. J. Riodan, Co. 3, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  "THE SIMULATING OF THE GREEN"                      121
+      Lieut. Joseph Gazzam, Jr., O. R. C., Co. 2,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  DON'T SEND ME HOME                                 123
+      E. M. Anderson, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  COMPANY NINE                                       124
+      O. W. Hauserman, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO EUROPE                         126
+      T. L. Wood, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  COMPANY 5 SONG                                     127
+      James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  DOUBLE TIME                                        128
+      W. J. Littlefield, 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND                                130
+      Anonymous, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  MARCHING ON THE RHINE                              132
+      Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  EGGS--AGERATED                                     133
+      Robert B. House, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE"          134
+      R. E. Hall, 1st Troop, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  FINIS                                              136
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  COVER ILLUSTRATION, C. L. Yates, Co. 1,
+      1st P. T. R.
+
+  LET'S GO!!                                  _Frontispiece_
+      Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2,
+        2d P. T. R.
+
+  THE FIRST TIME                                  _Page_ 21
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  RIGHT DRESS--MARCH!                               "    24
+      C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A TEST OF DISCIPLINE                              "    27
+      C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WHAT'S YOUR NAME?                                 "    33
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A CONFERENCE                                      "    38
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW                        "    49
+      Mr. Sleeper, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THERE'S A HUNGRY SURGEON WAITING                  "    58
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A SHADOW-POINTIN' BOCHE                           "    63
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  S. O. S.                                          "    67
+      Mr. Baskerville, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  A MISS AT 5 O'CLOCK                               "    75
+      C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  MESS? YES!!                                       "    81
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+      Title by Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WHEN EAST IS WEST                                 "    90
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WITH THE ROOKIE TO THE END                        "   139
+      Mrs. Gertrude Crosby, Wife of Lieut. P. L.
+        Crosby, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  THE END OF A PERFECT DAY                       _End Papers_
+      Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2,
+        2d P. T. R.
+
+
+
+
+PUBLICATION COMMITTEE
+
+
+Edward F. Dalton, Chairman Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+
+1st P. T. R.
+
+          W. Dyar, Co. 1
+          P. J. Field, Co. 2
+          G. B. Blaine, Co. 3
+          A. F. Woodies, Co. 4
+          J. C. McMullin, Co. 5
+          R. T. Frye, Co. 5
+          M. B. Phipps, Co. 6
+          D. Loring, Jr., Co. 7
+          C. H. Ramsey, Co. 8
+          W. W. Webber, Co. 9
+          S. S. Gordon, Tr. 1
+          R. B. Leake, Btry. 1
+          D. E. Currier, Btry. 2
+
+
+2nd P. T. R.
+
+          W. J. Littlefield, Btry. 3
+          T. C. Jessup, Co. 1
+          E. E. Henderson, Co. 1
+          F. J. Felbel, Co. 2
+          Lieut. Kenneth McIntosh, Co. 4
+          Capt. Richardson, Co. 5
+          Pendleton King, Co. 6
+          H. MacKay, Co. 7
+          Herbert Clock, Co. 9
+          E. S. Murphy, Btry. 1
+          C. G. Shaw, Btry. 2
+          M. N. Kernochan, Btry. 3
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+          _River that rolls to the restless deep
+             From sylvan-born placidity,
+           Stained issue of the undefiled
+           By your own wayward will exiled
+             From the crystal lap of a land-locked sea,_
+
+          _Read me the meaning of your mood.
+             The waters murmur as they flow,
+           "Strife is the law by which we live;
+           Stagnation, our alternative:
+             This is the only truth we know."_
+
+          _The tides of mortal toilers meet
+             To merge their rhythms in bloody fray,
+           And, wave to wave, their armies call--
+           Nay, summon us that we shall all
+             Assume the role we choose to play._
+
+          _So, at the cry, in loyal breasts,
+             As smaller self-concern recedes,
+           Still burns the old Achillean fire,
+           Still eager questing souls desire
+             Not life but living, not days but deeds._
+
+
+
+
+PART I
+
+POEMS
+
+
+
+
+STANDING IN LINE
+
+
+          When I applied for Plattsburg I stood for hours in line
+          To get a piece of paper which they said I had to sign;
+          When I had signed I stood in line (and my, that line was slow!)
+          And asked them what to do with it; they said they didn't know.
+
+          And when I came to Plattsburg I had to stand in line,
+          To get a Requisition, from five o'clock till nine;
+          I stood in line till night for the Captain to endorse it;
+          But the Q. M. had one leggin' left; I used it for a corset.
+
+          We stand in line for hours to get an issue for the squad;
+          We stand in line for hours and hours to use the cleaning-rod;
+          And hours and hours and hours and hours to sign the roll for pay;
+          And walk for miles in double files on Inoculation day.
+
+          Oh, Heaven is a happy place, its streets are passing fair,
+          And when they start to call the roll up yonder I'll be there;
+          But when they start to call that roll I certainly will resign
+          If some Reserve Archangel tries to make me stand in line.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST TIME
+
+          My legs are moving to and fro
+            I feel like a balloon;
+          How my head swims, first time I go
+            To boss the damn platoon.
+
+          My throat and mouth are full of paste
+            There's nothing in my hat;
+          My belt is winding round my waist
+            But where's my stomach at?
+
+
+
+
+ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE
+
+
+          Our Christian Science Battery
+            Without a gun or horse,
+          Is just a simple oversight,
+            That will be changed, of course.
+
+          But while we're waiting patiently,
+            And longing for the day,
+          They have a funny little game
+            They make us fellows play.
+
+          Bill Hallstead _simulates_ the gun
+            He's sort of short and fat
+          And doesn't look much like a gun,
+            But he's pretty good at that.
+
+          And they've elected me a horse,
+            Off-horse of the wheel pair;
+          I tie a white cloth on my arm
+            So they can see I'm there.
+
+          Then when the battery is formed
+            With each man in his place,
+          They line the "pieces" in a row
+            Just like a chariot race.
+
+          Bill Barnum's "Greatest Show on Earth"
+            Has not a thing on us;
+          We tear around the old parade
+            And kick up _clouds_ of dust.
+
+          For it's gallop all the morning long,
+            They never let us walk.
+          Why, it gets so realistic
+            That I whinney when I talk.
+
+          I wouldn't be a bit surprised
+            If I should hear some day
+          That instead of mess they'd issue us
+            That 14 lbs. of hay.
+
+          And so I'm looking for the man
+            The one who said to me:
+          "You don't want to be a 'doughboy,'
+            Go and join the battery."
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Right Dress--MARCH]
+
+
+
+
+THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME
+
+          "Lots of love to our lieutenant,"
+          Writes my mother;
+          And the letters from my brother
+          Contain facetious remarks about "majors" ...
+          He calls me "The Colonel" and laughs....
+          But they mean it seriously,
+          Those back home.
+          They can't seem to realize
+          How shaky is our berth up here ...
+          How every "Retreat" means a brief respite;
+          Each "Reveille" the dread
+          Of some more foolish blunder ...
+          Some new bone-play.
+          And yet sometimes our timid vanity
+          Blossoms under the warmth of their regard;
+          Our hopes take strength from their confidence in us.
+
+          There came a blue envelope in the mail today.
+          A square envelope delicately scented with myrrh....
+          And she ended with
+          "_Adieu, cher Capitaine_."
+
+          That very morning
+          I started even our sphinx-faced commander
+          By bawling out: "Right dress--MARCH!"
+
+          "_Adieu, cher Capitaine_,"
+          She had written,
+          And I can see the flecks of soft star dust in her eyes
+          As she thought it.
+
+          Bitterly I swore at my luck ...
+          Then
+          Sent her that photograph taken of me
+          On July Fourth....
+          Of me astride the horse of an officer.
+          I scrawled a jest under it.
+
+          But what else could I do?
+
+[Illustration: A TEST OF DISCIPLINE]
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS
+
+
+          Lady, in your stockings white,
+          As you flutter by the road,
+          You inspire me to write
+                  An ode.
+
+          Though upon my manly back
+          There reposes half a ton,
+          Why repine against a pack
+                  Or gun?
+
+          Though the fire-tressed orb
+          Makes mirage upon the street;
+          Though the baking soil absorb
+                  My feet;
+
+          Though the Sergeants stamp and rave;
+          Though the Captain's eye is flame;
+          Pray, how should my heart behave--
+                  The same?
+
+          I become a thing of steel,
+          Buoyant none the less as cork;
+          Radiant from hat to heel
+                  I walk.
+
+          Lady, in your stockings white,
+          Don't you note my altered step?
+          Don't you feel, enchanting sprite,
+                  My pep?
+
+
+
+
+"AVOIRDUPOIS"
+
+
+          I sing the song of a Fat Man
+              Out on the skirmish line,
+          With a pack chock full of lead and bricks
+            A'hanging on behind.
+
+          Maybe you think it's funny
+            When you're out there on the run,
+          Beside all that equipment
+            To be pullin' half a ton.
+
+          The Captain has a heart of stone
+            It makes no odds to him;
+          He's there to teach you to skirmish,
+            And you'll skirmish fat or thin.
+
+          D'you suppose he gives a tinker's damn
+            If when you're lying prone,
+          The pack comes up behind your ears
+            And whacks you on the dome?
+
+          He just hollers "fire faster,"
+            Though he knows you couldn't hit
+          The broad side of a barn door,
+            If you were fifty feet from it.
+
+          He doesn't care a little bit,
+            If you're gasping hard for breath,
+          He's there to teach you to skirmish,
+            If you skirmish yourself to death.
+
+          Oh, well, it's true about fat men
+            Being always full of fun,
+          Good Lord, they've got to be,
+            'Cause they can neither fight nor run.
+
+[Illustration: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?]
+
+
+
+
+GO!
+
+
+          Your lips say "Go!"
+            Eyes plead "Stay!"
+          Your voice so low
+            Faints away
+              To nothing, dear--
+              God keep me here!
+
+          God end the war,
+            And let us two
+          Travel far
+            On Love's road, you
+              And I in peace,
+              Never to cease.
+
+          Your lips say "Go!"
+            Eyes plead "Stay"--
+          Ah, how I know
+            What price you pay.
+
+
+
+
+THE PLATTSBURG CODE
+
+
+1
+
+          By Lake Champlain, where Bourbon tossed
+            The dice of fortune and romance,
+          Where red-coats won and red-coats lost,
+            We soldiers train to fight in France.
+            Though with no pomp and elegance
+          Of gold-laced beaux, we have their same
+            Old code of pluck and nonchalance--
+          "God give us guts to play the game."
+
+
+2
+
+          May winds that sing like troubadours
+            Of musket, sword and daring deed,
+          And ideals won in early wars,
+            Inspire each warrior to succeed;
+            To fight that nations may be freed,
+          And through all hardships make his aim
+            The punch of old-time heroes' creed--
+          God give us guts to play the game.
+
+
+3
+
+          And if to-morrow--who can tell?--
+            We hike along a hot white French
+          Highway, exposed to shrapnel shell,
+            Or occupy a first-line trench,
+            'Midst poisoned gas and dead men's stench,
+          And hand grenades that burst and maim;
+            May not all hell our spirit quench--
+          God give us guts to play the game.
+
+
+4
+
+          If through entangled wires and mud,
+            Charging the Boche, we madly run,
+          With comrades dropping, dyed with blood,
+            And sickening sights and sounds that stun,
+            And in death's duel meet the Hun
+          'Midst shell holes, smoke, and battle flame,
+            Steel clashing steel and gun to gun--
+          God give us guts to play the game.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A CONFERENCE
+
+
+          I was sleeping in the barracks,
+            A week or so ago.
+          And in the midst of pleasant dreams
+            I heard the whistle blow.
+
+          Lord, how I hate those whistles!
+            Well, it was time to "rouse,"
+          So we marched down 'mongst the thistles
+            Beside the old ice house.
+
+          I looked around in misery,
+            At last I took a seat,
+          With nothing to lean up against
+            And no place for my feet.
+
+          As I sat there in the drizzle
+            Of a good old Plattsburg rain,
+          I wondered if I'd fizzle
+            The lesson once again.
+
+          The captain, who, like Nero
+            Observing Rome in flames,
+          Was seated on a packing-box
+            Perusing all the names.
+
+          "Mr. Whitney, won't you tell us
+            Of patrols both front and rear?
+          Speak up, Mr. Whitney,
+            So the men in back can hear."
+
+          "And please now, Mr. Warnock,
+            Just tell us if you will
+          What you'd do with this problem
+            If you were Sergeant Hill?"
+
+          "No! I'll ask you if I want you;
+            Never mind the hands.
+          Warnock, _you_ are Sergeant Hill,
+            Just call out your commands."
+
+          "Whitney! Warnock! Gee, what luck!"
+            I chortled in my glee.
+          My name is Brown, t'was very plain
+            He'd never get to me.
+
+          So I listened to the questions
+            And the answers one by one,
+          And wondered if that 3rd degree
+            Was ever to be done.
+
+          I thought of cups with handles on,
+            Of napkins and clean hands;
+          I thought of all the pretty girls
+            That live in _Christian_ lands.
+
+          I thought of cakes, and pies, and things,
+            I thought of home in pain,
+          And wondered if I'd ever sleep
+            Till 9 o'clock again.
+
+          I wished I had some lager beer
+            Or a nice silver fizz;
+          When, "Mr. Brown, you tell us
+            What a special order is."
+
+          I rose, saluted, brushed my pants
+            Then mutely gazed around.
+          I stood transfixed; the Captain said
+            "_Sit down, Mr. Brown!_"
+
+
+
+
+SUNDAY IN BARRACKS
+
+
+          Little silences
+          Sit in the corners
+          Munching their finger tips.
+          I lie stretched flat upon my bunk....
+          I count the cracks in the pine-boards above me.
+          I am alone.
+          These others who fill the air with talk
+          About right and wrong ... life and death ...
+          With heavy-nailed footsteps
+          And sometimes heavier profanity ...
+          What becomes of them on Sunday?
+          Dinners ... the beauty of women ...
+          Pretty talk.
+          Camaraderie beside the lake ... fellow for fellow,
+          What does it matter?
+          My little silences slide along the floor ...
+          Clamber up my bunk
+          To grin at me in my loneliness.
+          Then I think of the millions
+          Who have none for whom to be lonely,
+          French, English, German, Russ....
+          What does it matter the language?
+          We are all one,
+          Levelled in solitude.
+
+          And I laugh at the silences,
+          And laugh to see them scurrying back to their corners,
+          Gibbering.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY
+
+
+I
+
+          Since we came to Plattsburg Training Camp
+          Upon the 12th of May,
+          A lot of clever candidates
+          Have fallen by the way;
+          But the strangest fall among them all
+          Was Montmorency Gray.
+
+
+II
+
+          Monty was a clever lad,
+          As bright as bright could be;
+          He came up days ahead of time--
+          Ahead of you and me--
+          And got in strong right from the start.
+          O a clever lad was he!
+
+
+III
+
+          For Monty was an Officer
+          Of Uncle Sam's Reserve;
+          His uniform was spic and span
+          In every line and curve;
+          And what he lacked in other things,
+          He made up for in nerve.
+
+
+IV
+
+          He learned the I.D.R. by heart
+          Before the 1st of June;
+          He used to study late at night,
+          And in the morning soon;
+          No wonder that the Captain let him
+          Lead the 1st Platoon.
+
+
+V
+
+          He asked the cutest questions
+          In the study hall at night;
+          He knew the difference between
+          A Cut and Fill at sight.
+          And when it said: "What do you do?"
+          He always did just right.
+
+
+VI
+
+          He memorized the map from
+          Chestnut Hill to Steven's Run;
+          He didn't have to draw a scale,
+          As we have always done;
+          He _knew_ that you could see Five-Six--
+          Ty-Six from Six-O-One.
+
+
+VII
+
+          And then this tragic episode
+          Of which I write occurred.
+          It happened sometime in the night
+          Of June the 23rd
+          That Montmorency stole away,
+          And left no sign or word.
+
+
+VIII
+
+          We found at dawn that he had gone
+          And left us in the lurch.
+          The Colonel sent detachments out
+          For miles around to search;
+          A strong patrol to every knoll,
+          To every house, and church.
+
+
+IX
+
+          They found no trace in any place;
+          It caused a lot of talk;
+          They wired down to every town
+          From Plattsburg to New York.
+          As it was plain he took no train
+          He must have had to walk.
+
+
+X
+
+          'Twas well into the Fall before
+          The mystery was cleared.
+          (They'd never heard a single word
+          Since Monty disappeared),
+          When the Colonel had a caller,
+          An old farmer, with a beard.
+
+
+XI
+
+          He said his name was Topper,
+          And he lived in Table Rock,
+          And what he told the Colonel
+          Gave the Old Man quite a shock;
+          They were closeted together
+          Until after ten o'clock.
+
+
+XII
+
+          From Gettysburg to Plattsburg
+          Mr. Topper came to say
+          How he'd found a man in uniform
+          Down near his home one day,
+          Who, judging from his clothing, must
+          Have walked a long, long way.
+
+
+XIII
+
+          He told the sad and tragic tale
+          Of how he came to find,
+          While on his way to Hershey's Mill
+          With a load of corn to grind,
+          The young man wandering on a hill,
+          And wandering in his mind.
+
+
+XIV
+
+          He took him to his farmhouse, where
+          For seven weeks he lay
+          And talked and muttered to himself
+          In a most peculiar way.
+          He gave his name before he died
+          As Montmorency Gray.
+
+
+XV
+
+          He seemed more sick than lunatic,
+          Mr. Topper had to grant;
+          As meek and mild as a little child,
+          He did not rave or rant,
+          He only cried, until he died:
+          "You ought to, _but you can't_!"
+
+[Illustration: ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW]
+
+
+
+
+GIRLS
+
+
+          They wander everywhere about
+          The dears in pink, the dreams in yellow,
+          With fetching smile, with pretty pout,
+          And always with another fellow.
+
+          They spend their mornings baking cakes,
+          Their afternoons in making cookies;
+          And, oh! the soul within me aches--
+          Their sweets are all for other rookies.
+
+          Often, when 'neath their eyes we pass,
+          I hear some maiden sigh divinely,
+          And murmur to another lass,
+          "Dear, isn't _Jackie_ marching finely?"
+
+          Ah, girls, a sorry lot is his--
+          Dull are his days, his nights are dreary--
+          Who knows no maiden where he is,
+          Who has no dame to call him "Dearie."
+
+
+
+
+A LAMENT
+
+(AFTER C. LAMB)
+
+
+          All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses
+          That used to range along the fragrant bar;
+          Gone, all are gone, and in their places
+          Milk, Pop and Dietade its beauty mar.
+          The Big Four now has turned to Prohibition,
+          Anhäuser Busch no longer sells at par,
+          Bar-maids have joined the Army of Salvation,
+          The voice of Bryan governs from afar;
+          All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses,
+          Where once they glistened on the fragrant bar.
+
+
+
+
+THE MANUAL
+
+
+          Did you ever run into the butt of your gun,
+          Or dig the front sight with your nose?
+          Did your stomach turn over and stand up on end,
+          When you dropped the damn thing on your toes?
+
+          When coming to Port did the rifle fall short,
+          And the swivel ram into your fist?
+          When the rest did present did you so intent
+          Find a count that the others had missed?
+
+          And when at "Inspection" you clutched to perfection,
+          Then shot up the piece with a thrust,
+          Was there some dirty pup who pushed your cut-off up
+          So your bolt dug a cave in the dust?
+
+          Then when on the range your windage you'd change
+          For the flag that the Anarchists wave,
+          And the old cocking piece smeared your nose with red "grease,"
+          Did you learn what it meant to be brave?
+
+          How your old back did ache when you got the bad breaks
+          With the rifle that now has such charms,
+          And I'll make a good bet that you'll never forget
+          That exhausting old Manual of Arms.
+
+
+
+
+THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS
+
+
+I
+
+          To put the pay in patriot
+          Is the order of the day.
+          And some delight to sing of fight
+          For royalties that pay.
+          The louder that the eagle screams
+          The more the dollars shout,
+          And, if you please, atrocities
+          Like this are handed out:--
+
+          (Chorus)
+
+          I love you, dear America,
+          I love the starry flag,
+          We're proud to fight for you-oo-oo;
+          We never boast or brag.
+          We always will remember you,
+          We always will be true;
+          Maryland, my Maryland! hurrah, boys, hurrah!
+          As we go marching on to victory.
+
+
+II
+
+          That some are actuated
+          By intentions of the best,
+          Is surely clear, and so we fear
+          To class them with the rest.
+          And yet conceive some long-haired chap,
+          Or sentimental miss,
+          Who takes the time to fit a rhyme
+          To music, say, like this:--
+
+          (Chorus)
+
+          I love you, yes, I love you,
+          And when I'm across the sea,
+          I'll take your picture to the front,
+          'Twill always be with me.
+          I shall not mind the bullets
+          When I am far away,
+          You'll be a soldier's sweetheart,
+          My girl in U. S. A.
+
+
+III
+
+          To make the war more horrible
+          Some chap will surely try
+          To set to rag the starry flag,
+          And dance the battle cry.
+          We only hope we may be spared;
+          It did not fail to come,
+          A dashing trot of shell and shot,
+          Of bugle call and drum.
+
+          (Chorus)
+
+          That khaki glide! O! that army slide,
+          It seems to say:
+          "March away, march away!"
+          I feel so queer each time I hear
+          The music of that military band.
+          It's just too grand!
+          Fills me full of joy and pride,
+          See them marching side by side,
+          That's just the good old khaki glide!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+SATURDAY P.M.
+
+
+I
+
+          When you've had a shave and a shower,
+          And have picked up all the news;
+          When you've donned your Sunday Stetson
+          And your shiny pair of shoes;
+          When your work for the week is over,
+          You think that you are through.
+          You're wrong, my son, you're wrong, my son
+          There's something more for you.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle,
+            The prophylactic needle.
+            There's a hungry surgeon waiting
+            And he's waiting just for you.
+
+
+II
+
+          Tho' you lasted through the horrors
+          Of a test in skirmish drill,
+          And proved yourself a captain
+          When you bellowed "Fire at will!"
+          You are very much mistaken
+          If you think you've finished then;
+          There is something after luncheon
+          For all the Plattsburg men.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle, etc.
+
+
+III
+
+          Tho' you stood a strict inspection
+          And your dirty gun got by;
+          Tho' you'd grease spots on your breeches,
+          And the Captain winked his eye;
+          Tho' you ate your fill at dinner,
+          And enjoyed a Lucky Strike;
+          There is something at one-thirty
+          That I know you will not like.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle, etc.
+
+
+IV
+
+          Tho' you proved yourself a hero
+          After three hours in the line,
+          And when the doctor jabbed you
+          Just said, "Let's have a shine!"
+          And smoked a large-sized stogie
+          And thought that it was fun,
+          My noble-hearted candidate,
+          You'd only half begun.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle, etc.
+
+
+V
+
+          When you woke up at twelve-thirty
+          In a state of some alarm,
+          To feel a tortured muscle
+          In the region of your arm;
+          When you heard the groaning barracks,
+          You wiped your brow and said:
+          "Two million more next week-end,
+          And I guess that I'll be dead."
+
+            The needle, the needle,
+            The prophylactic needle.
+            You softly damn the surgeon,
+            And his needle tinged with red.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED
+
+
+          When first I landed in this camp
+          I used to write most every day
+          To all my friends I left behind,
+          And ask them what they had to say
+          About the old town and the girls,
+          Or what they thought about the war;
+          And in return the daily mail
+          It brought me letters by the score.
+
+          But now my friends write me and ask
+          What keeps me from replying,
+          And when I answer, "It's the work,"
+          Why, they just think I'm lying.
+          So now the letters I receive
+          Are few and very far between;
+          They're mostly from my family
+          And never any from a queen.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ARMA FEMINAMQUE
+
+
+          No man would doubt a woman's nerve,
+          We know you're brave enough;
+          You put a man to shame at times,
+          You're tender--and you're tough.
+          And yet I feel, with all your grit
+          And talk of cave-men stuff,
+            That you're sorter out of place
+          When I'm twistin' up my face,
+            A-thrustin' and a-jabbin' with my gun-knife.
+
+          There's some things in this queer old world
+          That's awkward things to see,
+          They can't be tied with ribbon
+          And they can't be served with tea.
+          They're not the least bit sociable
+          And women--as for me,
+            I wish you'd stay away,
+            While I'm training for the day
+            That I'm goin' to get in action with a gun-knife.
+
+          This ain't no country club affair
+          Of smiles and clever skill;
+          There ain't no silver cups around
+          When doughboys train to kill.
+          It's you or me--and do it quick,
+          A simple murder drill.
+            So I want no women 'round,
+            When I'm tearin' up the ground,
+            A shadow-pointin' Boches with my gun-knife.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+OUT O' LUCK
+
+
+    If, in spite of hopes and promises, your pay day doesn't come,
+  If the sergeant antedates the call, or Friday's fish is bum,
+    Or the waiter empties soup on you--don't let 'em see you glum.
+  You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.
+
+    If you must deploy your skirmish line with nothing in your dome,
+  Or send supporting picket-lines to countermarch the Somme,
+    The chances are you've guessed it wrong and "may as well go home."
+  You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.
+
+    If you drop between the battle-lines and no one finds the place,
+  Or jump into a pit and drive a bay'nit through your face,
+    Or try to stop a ten-inch shell and leave an empty space.
+  You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.
+
+[Illustration: S.O.S.]
+
+
+
+
+SHERMAN WAS RIGHT
+
+
+          You may talk about your marching
+          And your stiff, close-order drill;
+          You may cuss out recitations,
+          And of skirmish have your fill;
+          The difficult manoeuvers
+          Which you do most every day
+          May get your goat like everything,
+          And spoil your Plattsburg stay.
+          But for me it's far, far harder
+          Makes me feel more like a prune,
+          To march at strict attention
+          Past the Hostess House at noon.
+
+
+
+
+TROOPSHIP CHANTY
+
+
+          The sea is green as green-pea soup
+          And half-way down the green-o,
+          A U-boat's lying snug and tight
+          All bellied out with dynamite,
+          And twenty guns between-o!
+          And twenty guns between-o!
+
+          So scrape yer hatchways clear of brine,
+          And bawl yer jolly song-o.
+          For if she "blows," my lads, why, then
+          We'll blow her back to Hell again,
+          With compliments along-o!
+          With compliments along-o!
+
+
+
+
+THOSE RUMORS
+
+
+                  He sauntered in
+              With a knowing grin,
+          The news he'd been to hear;
+              We knew right well
+              He'd come to tell
+          The latest from the rear.
+              "A hundred went," he said, "to-day,
+              "Five hundred more must go they say;
+              "Looks bad, Bill, guess you're on your way;
+              "Darn few of us can hope to stay.
+              "I got this straight from a friend of mine,
+              "A friend of his in Company 9,
+              "Heard from a friend in Company 10,
+              "That Company 5 lost fifty men."
+          With this you'd think
+          Our hopes would sink,
+          It ought to change our humor.
+              We knew the source,
+              So smiled of course,
+          It was an L. T. rumor.
+
+
+
+
+WAR'S HORRORS
+
+
+          I hate to talk of a Regular
+            Without the proper respect;
+          But given a chance to criticize,
+            There's a bunch that I'd select.
+          And they are those musical miscreants,
+            Those malefactors of noise,
+          Those rookie Second Cavalrymen,
+            The amateur bugle boys.
+
+          They blow retreat,
+            And from head to feet
+          Coagulate your spine;
+            Or at company drill
+          They send a chill
+            A-shivering down the line.
+          Just try to salute
+            To their twittering toot,
+          Their yodeling, rasping groan,
+            Their blithering bleat,
+          And you'll swear that they beat
+            The Hindu quarter-tone,
+                By Gad!
+          The Hindu quarter-tone.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALL
+
+
+          Spring to arms, ye sons of freedom,
+            Lift your country's ensign high;
+          Join her undefeated Army,
+            Succor France, her old ally.
+          Stand for freedom, truth and justice,
+            Crush the Prussian tyrant's power;
+          Emulate your worthy forebears
+            In their Homeland's crucial hour.
+          Britain, mother of your nation;
+            France, her hope in ages past;
+          Belgium, home of peaceful people,
+            Seared by foul oppression's blast;
+          Russia, newly born to freedom;
+            Seeking honor, God and right,
+          Call on you to aid in crushing,
+            Prussianism's cursed blight.
+          Are ye men? Then meet the challenge
+            As your fathers did of old;
+          Help the cause of all the races,
+            With your muscle, brain, and gold.
+
+[Illustration: On the firing Line "A Miss At 5 O'clock"]
+
+
+
+
+BEANS
+
+
+          Consider then the Army bean
+            So various and quaint.
+          Sometimes we find they're just plain beans,
+            And then again they ain't.
+          They're funny shades of yellow,
+            Brown, green, and red, and white;
+          While striped and spotted, polka dotted
+            Beans our taste delight.
+          But nix on beans Manchurian,
+            And beans of age Silurian,
+          Which same could stand a buryin',
+            When they come on--Good Night!
+
+
+
+
+FORWARD "?"
+
+
+              On the parade,
+                Soft and low,
+              Rookie hiccoughed,
+                "Forward, Ho!"
+
+              Another youngster
+                Feeling smart,
+              Tried to shout,
+                "Forward, Hart!"
+
+              One requested,
+                "Forward, How!"
+              From somewhere else,
+                There came a "Yow!"
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+          Perhaps a mile or so away
+            We heard not "Harp!" nor "Harch!"
+          But stalwart Major Koehler's voice
+            Thunder, "Forward, March!"
+
+
+
+
+CHANT OF A DERELICT
+
+
+          Sad is my song, mates, for I've got the axe,
+            I've got to go, I've got to go;
+          Farewell to Plattsburg and life in the shacks,
+            Home I must go, I must go.
+          Told not to let such a small matter grieve me,
+            Sent to the parents who hate to receive me,
+          Hearing my story, they'll never believe me,
+            I've got to go, got to go.
+
+          No more to sleep in a two-story bunk,
+            Back I must go, I must go;
+          No more to sag 'neath a pack full of junk,
+            Home I must go, I must go.
+          Leaving the books I could never have learned,
+            Buying a straw hat--the old one was burned--
+          Even the wrist watch must now be interned,
+            Back I must go, I must go.
+
+          Here is the moral of this plaintive cough,
+            Sung as I go, moaned as I go;
+          Here is the reason for my sounding off,
+            Now as I go, as I go:
+          Comrades in arms, oh! be prompt at formations,
+            Neat in your dress, and observe regulations,
+          Else, you, like me, will rejoin your relations,
+            Home you must go, you must go.
+
+[Illustration: MESS? YES!!]
+
+
+
+
+PREOCCUPATION
+
+
+          The captain stops and yells to me,
+            "Wake up there, rear rank number three!"
+          And then, perchance, he makes some mention
+            Of how I do not pay attention.
+          But is it _my_ fault? No, it's you,
+            With your persistent eyes of blue,
+          That halt the flow of reason's stream
+            And make me dream and dream and dream,
+          Until the captain comes and--well,
+            To put it plain--he gives me _Hell_.
+
+
+
+
+INOCULATION DAY
+
+
+          My blood the surgeons fortify
+            With antiseptic serum;
+          The dread bacilli I defy,
+            What cause have I to fear 'em?
+
+          We form outside the pest-house door
+            At one o'clock precisely,
+          But if we get our dose at four
+            We think we're doing nicely.
+
+          And in our arm the surgeon stabs
+            A hypodermic squirter,
+          E'en as the hungry hobo jabs
+            His fork in a frankfurter.
+
+          I'm full of dope for smallpox germs,
+            For typhus and such evils,
+          For broken heart and army worms,
+            For chestnut blight and weevils.
+
+          I'm doped against the bayonet
+            Wielded by German demons;
+          But no one seems to think I'll get
+            Dear old delirium tremens.
+
+
+
+
+DON'T WEAKEN
+
+
+  When you feel on the bum and the outlook is glum,
+  And you're wonderin' what's comin' next;
+  When most every thing's drear and life loses its cheer,
+  And the Skip and Reverses are vexed;
+  If this Plattsburgish heat knocks you clean off your feet,
+  Or your bunkies they ain't even speakin';
+  Keep your shirt on your back, don't knock over the stack,
+  It's a great life, if you don't weaken.
+
+  When they launder your sock till it ain't fit to hock,
+  When they shrink up your shirt like a rag;
+  If you blister your toes and then sunburn your nose
+  And then can't even go on a jag;
+  Why, you're sure out of luck, but just pass the old buck,
+  Keep a stiff upper lip like a deacon;
+  Though you shoot ten straight blanks do not kick with the cranks,
+  Summon a grin and don't weaken.
+
+  If you're late for retreat and must police the street,
+  If at reveille you're still in your bed;
+  If your girl sends you flags which some other cuss bags,
+  Or they clip all the hair off your head;
+  If the mess comes out burned,
+  So your stomach gets turned,
+  Or the "upper man" keeps you from sleepin';
+  Don't you growl, that won't help,
+  For they'll dub you a whelp;
+  Can the grouch--but don't weaken.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE
+
+
+          Three dead men rose on nimble toes
+          Above the frozen clay;
+          And as they sped, each of the Dead
+          Told how he died that day.
+
+          Said one, "I sent the Regiment
+          To safety as I fell."
+          The Second cried, "Before I died
+          I hurled the foe to Hell."
+
+          As for the Third, he spoke no word
+          But hastened on his way,
+          Until at last a whisper passed:
+          "How did _you_ die today?"
+
+          "There was a maid slept unafraid
+          Within a hut," he said.
+          "I searched the place and for a space
+          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 lust 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 chores.
+          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 God we be as game!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+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 compass 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 shell,
+            And almost catch a glimpse of hell;
+          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 passed,
+            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
+          Crashing 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, God 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.
+
+
+
+
+RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE
+
+
+            Awake! 'tis morning, though it should not be--
+          Come, can the yawns, it's speed they want to see--
+            And stagger forth upon a hostile world,
+          In flannel shirt and cotton pants O. D.
+
+            Before the phantoms of the night were done,
+          Methought I idled somewhere in the sun,
+            Debating whether beauty to pursue,
+          Or touch a bell, and cultivate a bun.
+
+            And lovely maids in garments pale did seem
+          To shimmer round me in continuous stream,
+            Each with a glass of something in her hand,
+          And then I turned--and lo! it was a dream!
+
+            And ere the cock crew he that stood before
+          The barracks, shouted "Half a minute more!
+            Belts, bayonets, and pieces--on the jump--
+          And signal-flags and alidades," O Lor'!
+
+            I sometimes think that never battles din
+          Were so unwelcome as the words "Fall in!"
+            Nor any victory could taste so sweet
+          As French vermouth with ice and Gordon gin.
+
+            Yesterday's problem 'twixt the Red and Blue
+          Involved our journey down the Road Peru;
+            The day before we took the Peru Road--
+          I'll bet a hat we're there to-morrow, too.
+
+            Myself when fresh and full of zeal and spunk,
+          Hung on the words whence wisdom should be drunk;
+            But this was all the harvest that I reaped--
+          To say "as fast as possible" is punk.
+
+            Platoon commanders, captains by the score,
+          Each takes his turn--and then is seen no more;
+            But no one ever thinks of him again
+          One half so kindly as they thought before.
+
+            To-day's commander, with commands profuse,
+          To-morrow to the rear rank will reduce.
+            Think, and you know not what he meant to say--
+          He knows not neither, so--ah, what's the use?
+
+            Waste not your hour to criticize or blame,
+          You would have done it worse, or just the same.
+            Better to pack your troubles with your kit,
+          To keep your shirt on, and to play the game.
+
+            Some for the shriek of shot and shell, and some
+          Sigh for the bottle of New England rum.
+            Oh, face the facts, and let the fiction go--
+          I'll bet "_la vie des tranchèes_" will be bum.
+
+            One moment's rest, then back into the mill
+          With butt and point to lacerate and kill.
+            I often wonder what the Germans teach
+          One half so cultured as our "Bay'net Drill."
+
+            For war is hell, and Plattsburg not a jest,
+          And yet, by gravy, we will do our best,
+            Till submarine and Kaiser are forgot,
+          Or Angel Gabriel hollers out, "At rest!"
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS
+
+
+          Says Captain Peek to Company Two,
+          "Let's have an exam to-day;
+          "So get your rifles and bayonet, boys,
+          "And fall in right away.
+
+          "Line up whenever you're ready to go;
+          "At route step do squads right:
+          "Light up your pipes, roll up your sleeves,
+          "We'll try to make this light."
+
+          With joyful faces they march to parade,
+          Fall out and rest on the grass.
+          "Will someone please perform right face?
+          "We'll let slight errors pass."
+
+          Then Captain Peek shuts up that book
+          "I won't give one black mark.
+          "Officers, beat it; get the hook!
+          "I'll drill you right till dark.
+
+          "You seem to know the drill all right;
+          "Don't bother about those maps;
+          "Put on your 'civies' as fast as you can,
+          "And don't come back for taps."
+
+          'Twill be thus perhaps in a happier land,
+          When they've run that American drive,
+          Where we drill in white all armed with harps;
+          But not while our Cap's alive.
+
+
+
+
+A 2nd REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO"
+
+
+          Major Collins is careful of
+          His regiment's health.
+          Lemonade and other things,
+          Taken on march,
+          Have been known to cause
+          Soldiers to die, and pie?
+          Perish the suggestion! 'Tis
+          Safe to bet the major
+          Was not born in New England.
+
+          If in a deep wood or desert vast
+          One would never be lost
+          With Captain Barnes. He knows
+          How to orient the landscape
+          By sun or star.
+
+          Lieutenant Meyer is tall,
+          He holds his hat on
+          By a strap
+          Under his chin.
+          A cyclone couldn't blow it off.
+
+          Captain Latrobe came on
+          From Texas way,
+          "Sif bofe" his saddle
+          And himself. He might as well
+          Have saved the freight on the saddle,
+          For he has no horse to ride on.
+          He leads his steedless troop
+          On charger invisible.
+
+          Arnold, Major now, fares better.
+          His horse is real
+          And has white feet.
+          Do not talk to his
+          Command while it is marching,
+          Nor count for the men, or
+          The winning smile will
+          Turn into a volcano,
+          And you will be reduced to
+          A shapeless mass. Beware!
+
+          Carr's horse is black,
+          And a beauty, too,
+          But neighs out loud; hence
+          Never should be used to patrol.
+          The enemy would listen, and
+          Know you were near.
+
+          The straightest man
+          On horseback is,
+          Doubtless, Wainwright;
+          And he doesn't lean backward to do it, either.
+
+          Matthews has a deep voice;
+          No ear trumpet is needed to hear his commands.
+          He believes in exercise.
+          His men should be able to
+          Throw Samson or Sandow,
+          If they are not dead
+          By August Eleventh.
+
+          Waldron knows how to patrol--
+          At least he wrote a book
+          For thirty cents.
+          He next should write a book on how
+          To spot a periscope when we cross the sea.
+          If we don't know that, we'll never
+          Spot anything else
+          But bubbles on the ocean's face.
+
+          Capt. Goodwyn just came up
+          From Panama, and brought
+          Chivalry with him.
+          It's as hot here as there,
+          But he is showing us how
+          To make it hotter
+          For certain people
+          To the eastward.
+
+          There is a fat Q.M.,
+          Whose name is
+          Unknown, but not his form.
+          Once seen
+          Never forgotten;
+          He must have
+          The keys to the ice-box.
+
+
+
+
+EUREKA
+
+
+          It may be from hot Tallahassee,
+            It may be from cold northern Nome,
+          But there's nothing that can be compared with
+            That BIG little letter from home.
+
+
+
+
+FOURTH COMPANY, N.E. SONG
+
+
+    'Way up in Plattsburg, right near the northern border,
+    They sent us off in May,
+    There for three months to stay,
+    So we could all become lieutenants.
+    Then when they put us all in comp'nies
+    We made New England Four.
+    It's the finest little company
+    That ever did Squads Right and ran into a tree.
+    New England, you've got to hand it to us--
+    Good old Company Four!
+
+    'Way up in Plattsburg--that's where they make us soldiers--
+    They drill us every day.
+    Damn little time for play,
+    'Cause when we do not drill we study.
+    New England number four's our comp'ny,
+    We're always full of pep.
+    Now if you want some men for good, hard work
+    You'll always find this company will never shirk.
+    New England, you've got to hand it to us--
+    Good old Company Four!
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+SONGS AND PARODIES
+
+
+
+
+LONG, LONG TRAIL
+
+(_Air: There's a Long Trail_)
+
+
+          There's a long, long trail before us,
+            Into No-Man's land in France,
+          Where the shrapnel shells are bursting,
+            And we must advance.
+
+          There'll be lots of drill and hiking,
+            Before our dreams all come true,
+          But some day we'll show the Germans,
+            How the Yankees come through.
+
+
+
+
+WILLIE'S PA
+
+(_Air: Solomon Levi_)
+
+
+I
+
+  O, Willie Jones's fond mamma brought him to Plattsburg town,
+  To see his father at the Camp go marching up and down;
+  And Willie grew excited as the band began to play,
+  And when he saw his papa march, the people heard him say:
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  "O, look at him, Ma-ma, ain't he simply grand?
+  See the way he holds his gun and swings his other hand.
+  The Captain's walking up in front, and now he's calling 'hep,'
+  And everyone but my papa is marching out of step."
+
+
+II
+
+  O, Willie Jones, he loved to see the soldiers marching by,
+  He went down to the target range to see the bullets fly,
+  And every time they made a shot, he cried "Ain't that a beaut!"
+  And clapped his hands in glee to see his papa start to shoot.
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  "O, look at him, Ma-ma, see him hold his gun,
+  And every time he shoots it off it hits him on the bun.
+  He puts his hand around the thing and gives an awful pull,
+  The red flag there is waving, O! it must have been a bull."
+
+
+
+
+COMPANY 2 NEW ENGLAND
+
+(_Air: "Lord Geoffry Amherst"_)
+
+
+  Oh, good old Uncle Sam declared a war on Kaiser Bill,
+  When, his pledges "Bill" neglected to fulfill;
+  And the War Department ordered that a training camp should be,
+  So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?
+  So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?
+  And the men from all New England came along and gathered there,
+  And the companies they chose with greatest care.
+  But out of all the candidates selected but a few
+  To organize New England Number 2.
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  Oh, Captain Peek and Company Two
+  They'll be names known to fame the whole world o'er.
+  They will ever be glorious
+  When the Hohenzollerns reign no more.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE RESERVE CAVALRY
+
+(_Air: The Infantry, the Infantry, with Dirt Behind Their Ears_)
+
+
+I
+
+  The Cavalry, the Cavalry, they haven't any horse,
+  They're taking riding lessons by a correspondence course,
+  You'd think they were equestrians to hear the way they talk,
+  But when it comes to riding, why! We always see them walk.
+
+
+II
+
+  The Cavalry, the Cavalry, are marching down the street,
+  The Cavalry, the Cavalry, with blisters on their feet,
+  The Artillery is mounted now and ready for the course;
+  But we never see the Cavalry with any kind of horse.
+
+
+
+
+WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO DEUTSCHLAND
+
+(_Air: Hit the Line for Harvard_)
+
+
+          We're on our way to Deutschland,
+          We're Yankees through and through,
+          And we'll show the Huns of Germ'ny
+          What the U. S. A. can do.
+          With France and Old England,
+          Victory or die;
+          And we'll give a rousing cheer, boys,
+          As the allied flags go by.
+
+
+
+
+I WANT TO BE A COLONEL
+
+(_Air: I Want to Be Back Home in Dixie_)
+
+
+  I want to be, I want to be, I want to be at least a Colonel,
+  Have the Majors handing me salutes, and a man to black my boots.
+  I want to be, I want to be, at least a Colonel, C-O-L-O-N-E-L,
+  Hold down a desk and give the captains Hell.
+  I want to be, I want to be, I want to be a Colonel _now_!
+
+
+
+
+I WANT TO BE A DOUGHBOY
+
+(_Air: I Want to Be a Yale Boy_)
+
+
+          I want to be a doughboy,
+          Doughboy tried and true;
+          I want to be a doughboy,
+          With a hat cord of baby blue.
+          I want to be a doughboy,
+          Do as the doughboys do;
+          So, papa, if I can
+          When I get to be a man,
+          I want to be a doughboy, too.
+
+
+
+
+OUR BATTLE HYMN
+
+(Air: "Battle Hymn of the Republic")
+
+
+I
+
+  We have heard a lot about a place they call "Somewhere in France,"
+  And we're going "Over There" to put some pep in the advance;
+  "There's a long, long trail before us," but you bet we'll take the
+      chance,
+  As Five goes marching on.
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  Glory, glory, for we're going to beat the Hun,
+  Old Hindenburg will execute a new strategic run,
+  And Kaiser Bill will find he has no place beneath the sun,
+  When Five goes marching on.
+
+
+II
+
+  We are handy with the rifle and the bayonet and such;
+  And though Fritz is used to running and is sort of hard to touch,
+  We will show him when we get there that it doesn't matter much,
+  When Five is marching on.
+
+(Chorus)
+
+
+III
+
+  You may say that we're not modest, but our faults we will confess,
+  We hate to rise at Reveille, we're not too fond of mess;
+  And we never, never, never get a good line at Right Dress,
+  But we do keep marching on.
+
+(Chorus)
+
+
+IV
+
+  Now all you other fellows who are going overseas,
+  Just remember that we guarantee the foeman to appease;
+  So when you hear we're coming you may rest or stand at ease,
+  When Five goes marching on.
+
+(Chorus)
+
+
+
+
+NEW ENGLAND WILL BE LEADING
+
+(_Air: John Brown's Body_)
+
+
+  New England will be leading when we're marching up the Rhine,
+  New York will be the rear guard and we'll leave them far behind,
+  We'll conquer German cities and we'll capture Kaiser Bill,
+  As we go marching on.
+  Glory, glory to New England!
+  Glory, glory to New England!
+  Glory, glory to New England!
+  As we go marching on.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE
+
+(_Air: "Through Those Wonderful Glasses of Mine"_)
+
+
+  Germany, we're coming over, we are going straight to France;
+    We are praying for a chance,
+    Just to make your soldiers dance.
+  Kaiser Bill, your doom is coming; take a tip, old top, RESIGN!
+    For we'll drink beer in June,
+    By the light of the moon,
+  On the banks of the River Rhine.
+
+
+
+
+"THE SIMULATING OF THE GREEN"
+
+(_Air: "Wearing of the Green"_)
+
+
+  Oh, Major dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?
+  We Cavalry must simulate till horses can be found;
+  We gallop and we single-foot as handsome as can be,
+  But on our own two feet we ride--a horse you'll never see.
+  'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green;
+  A hundred men a-riding where no horses can be seen.
+
+  Oh, Colonel dear, ye'll grieve to hear Artillery's the same,
+  Compared to simulating guns, a horse is rather tame;
+  Last night I was the left rear wheel--it made me moighty sore,
+  But dommed if I will be the swab and crawl inside the bore.
+  'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green,
+  A-firing rounds and salvos where no cannons can be seen.
+
+
+
+
+DON'T SEND ME HOME
+
+(_Air: Don't Take Me Home_)
+
+
+          Don't send me home, please don't send me home.
+          Tell me, where did I make that break?
+          Oh, oh, oh, oh, have a little pity.
+          I'm a poor candidate, in search of war I roam.
+          I'll do anything you want me to, but don't
+          Send me home.
+
+
+
+
+COMPANY NINE
+
+(_Air: "Far Above Cayuga's Water"_)
+
+
+          Hark, ye Rookies, to the chorus
+          Of old Company Nine;
+          Captains, Colonels, all adore us,
+          When we fall in line.
+          Tho' we're doughboys, we're not slow boys,
+          Thanks to Sargeant Hill;
+          And when we take our stand in Deutschland,
+          Lord help Kaiser Bill!
+
+          In the morning at the warning,
+          "Clothes on Company Nine!"
+          Feeling rocky, into khaki
+          Jumps our valiant line.
+          We shun strawberries in the valley
+          Off the Peru road,
+          But in mess shack none can beat us
+          At the order "Load!"
+
+          In Pabst-less Plattsburg, bone-dry rookies,
+          Waiting for our kale,
+          Our healths we drink in foamless bumpers,
+          Full of Adam's ale.
+          But when the "Sammies" take their Münchener
+          On the river Rhine,
+          The toast will be to old New England
+          And to Company Nine.
+
+
+
+
+WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO EUROPE
+
+(_Air: "My Wife's Away in Europe"_)
+
+
+          We're on our way to Europe,
+          And we won't come back.
+          And we won't come back.
+          We're going to shoot an awful pill
+          Into the hide of Kaiser Bill.
+          Von Hindenburg can't stop us;
+          We laugh at him, hee! hee!
+          We've shot the pistol twice before,
+          Can't hit the side of a barn door.
+          We're on our way to Europe
+          To lay Bill cross our knee.
+
+
+
+
+COMPANY 5 SONG
+
+(_Original Music by Mr. H. T. Morgan_)
+
+
+1
+
+          On guard! We're always on our toes;
+          Plattsburg has taught us pep.
+          We're good at being Red or Blue,
+          But oh, that step!
+          Though we may lose a few patrols,
+          Just watch the Allied drive.
+          Right where they reach the Rhine, there
+          You'll find New England Five.
+
+
+2
+
+          Forward! We're on our way to France;
+          We'll make it hot for Fritz.
+          With bayonet or rifle,
+          Watch us score all hits.
+          Heads up! We're after Hindenburg,
+          We'll show him we're alive;
+          When we get through with him, he
+          Will know New England Five.
+
+
+
+
+DOUBLE TIME
+
+(_Air: Tammany_)
+
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          We're the boys with running feet,
+          And we never mind the heat.
+          Double time, double time!
+          Battr'y three, you always see at
+                Double time.
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          On the run we always keep,
+          We even do it in our sleep.
+          Double time, double time!
+          When we eat our food goes down at
+                Double time.
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          Always jump and run like Hell,
+          Faster than a British shell.
+          Double time, double time!
+          Boche can't hit us, for we move at
+                Double time.
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          It's the surest road to fame,
+          If you live and don't get lame.
+          Double time, double time!
+          Hammond's favorite outdoor sport is
+                Double time.
+
+
+
+
+THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND
+
+(_Air: Michael Roy_)
+
+
+  The Eighth New England Infantry is the one that shows them how;
+  If Kaiser Bill could see us drill, the war would be over now.
+  Out in front of the Hostess House, as we go marching by
+  Where the ladies are sitting, they drop their knitting, and all begin
+          to cry:
+    "For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!
+    It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."
+
+  If Elihu Root could see us shoot out on the rifle range
+  He'd send us to Russia to help lick Prussia--oh, what a glorious change!
+  If General Pershing could hear us cursing the whistle that blows too
+        soon,
+  There'd be a decree that reveille would come in the afternoon.
+    "For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!
+    It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."
+
+
+
+
+MARCHING ON THE RHINE
+
+(_Air: Rocky Road to Dublin_)
+
+
+          When marching on the Rhine, boys,
+          We'll be singing this song
+          As we're marching along.
+          When marching on the Rhine, boys,
+          On our hunt for Kaiser Bill,
+          We'll shoot the Germans out of France,
+          We'll keep them on the run;
+          When we get there the world will know,
+          New England has begun,
+          To fight for Uncle Sammy.
+          We'll do our best,
+          And never will rest,
+          Until Old Glory rises to the sun.
+          Over the sea, boys,
+          Over the sea to Victory,
+          New England will fight on forever.
+
+
+
+
+EGGS--AGERATED
+
+
+          Since I've come to Plattsburg
+          I've eaten so many eggs,
+          That feathers now adorn my skin,
+          And spurs are on my legs.
+
+
+
+
+WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE"
+
+
+          A fool there was, and he made his prayer,
+          (Even as you and I)
+          Tho't he would hold down a colonel's chair,
+          So he came up here to do and dare,
+          But the skipper decided he wasn't there,
+          (Even as you and I).
+
+          Oh, the days we waste, and the pay we waste,
+          And the work of our hands and feet
+          Belong to the days we did not know,
+          (And now we know we never could know)
+          Enough to stand still at retreat.
+
+          Oh, the sleep we lost and the weight we lost,
+          And the things we had to eat
+          Can never come back to make us want,
+          (We hope they can't and pray they sha'n't)
+          If they did we'd admit we were beat.
+
+          The fool was stripped to his foolish hide,
+          (Even as you and I)
+          And they wouldn't let him be rear guide,
+          (So some of him lived, but the most of him died)
+          And he stayed a "rookie" just outside
+          (Even as you and I).
+
+
+
+
+_FINIS_
+
+
+  _There's a lot that's pretty funny in the life we lead up here,
+   The problems and the hikin' and the mess;
+     But sometimes when I'm all alone I get a little blue,
+   And that's the way with everyone, I guess._
+
+  _I often sit and wonder what it's really all about,
+     And what the end of all this will be;
+   It seems almost impossible that we will be at war,
+     And see the things a soldier has to see._
+
+  _It's something more than just parade and something more than drill,
+     And something more than hiking in the rain.
+   It means that lots of friends we've made are going over seas,
+     And some of them will not come back again._
+
+  _There's not a single man of us who really wants to fight,
+     And maybe die somewhere in France--but then,
+   It's war, and since it must be done, we'll try to do it right.
+     God willing, we'll acquit ourselves like men._
+
+[Illustration: With the Rookie to the End.]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Table of Contents: The page numbering in the Table of Contents is off by
+one beginning with THE CALL which the Table of Contents indicates should
+be on page 73. It actually begins on the next page. By the end of the
+book the page numbering is off by two. The final poem "Finis" is on page
+138. These numbers have been retained as printed.
+
+Closing quotes were added to both stanzas of the poem "THE 8TH NEW
+ENGLAND" which begins on page 132.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by 
+The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKIE RHYMES ***
+
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+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rookie Rhymes, by The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+
+    p {margin-top: .75em;
+       text-align: justify;
+       text-indent: 1.25em;
+       margin-bottom: .75em;
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+    img {border: 0;}
+    .tnote      {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+    ins {text-decoration:none;  border-bottom: thin dotted gray;}
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+         clear: both;
+         }
+    hr {  margin-top: 2em;
+	 margin-bottom: 2em;
+         margin-left: auto;
+         margin-right: auto;
+         clear: both;
+       }
+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
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+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
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+
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+                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .caption  {font-weight: bold; font-size: 90%;}
+
+    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
+
+    .right    {text-align: right;}
+    .poem      {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem2   {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem3      {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left; font-style:italic;}
+    .poem4   {margin-left: 20%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem5      {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left; font-style:italic;}
+
+    .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;}
+
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by 
+The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Rookie Rhymes
+
+Author: The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+Illustrator: C. L. Yates et al
+
+Release Date: November 10, 2010 [EBook #34269]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKIE RHYMES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 356px;"><a name="cover" id="cover"></a>
+<img src="images/coverpage.jpg" width="356" height="500" alt="Cover" title="" />
+</div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/illus002.png" width="550" height="389" alt="Let&#39;s Go!!" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h1>ROOKIE RHYMES</h1>
+
+<div class='center'>BY<br />
+THE MEN OF<br />
+THE 1st. and 2nd. PROVISIONAL<br />
+TRAINING REGIMENTS<br />
+PLATTSBURG, NEW YORK<br />
+
+MAY 15&mdash;AUGUST 15<br />
+1917<br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/illus003.png" width="250" height="191" alt="Rookie composing a poem" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br /><br /><br />
+HARPER &amp; BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br />
+NEW YORK AND LONDON<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='copyright'>
+<span class="smcap">Rookie Rhymes</span><br />
+&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+Copyright, 1917, by Harper &amp; Brothers<br />
+Printed in the United States of America<br />
+Published September, 1917<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><i>Page</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Publication Committee</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Foreword</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert Tapley, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />PART I&mdash;POEMS</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Standing in Line</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The First Time</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Onward Christian Science</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">They Believe in Us Back Home</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ode to a Lady in White Stockings</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert Cutler, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Avoirdupois</span>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P.T.R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Go!</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. S. O'Neale, Jr., Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Plattsburg Code</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. L. Hill, Co. 5, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Conference</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Donald E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sunday in Barracks</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Ballad of Montmorency Gray</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pendleton King, Co. 6, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Girls</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert M. Benjamin, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Lament</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">H. Chapin, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Manual</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Those "Patriotic" Songs</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Frank J. Felbel, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Saturday P.M.</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Amory, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">How Things Have Changed</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. K. Stodder, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Arma Feminamque</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Out o' Luck</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. K. Rainsford, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sherman Was Right</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Joe F. Trounstine, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Troopship Chanty</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Those Rumors</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">F. L. Bird, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">War's Horrors</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kenneth McIntosh, 2d Lieut. O. R. C., Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Call</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_74">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Allen Bean MacMurphy, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Beans</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_77">74</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Forward "?"</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_78">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">John W. Wilber, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Chant of a Derelict</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_79">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ed. Burrows, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Preoccupation</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_83">80</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Inoculation Day</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_84">83</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Don't Weaken</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_86">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. T. Fry, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Three</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_88">87</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To the Little Black Dog</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_90">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">A. N. Phillips, Jr., 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">When East is West</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_91">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To My Sweetheart</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_93">92</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Every Rookie in Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Play the Game</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_94">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Stadium, Plattsburg</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_96">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Rubaiyat of a Plattsburg Candidate</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_97">96</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. Kerr Rainsford, Co. 7, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dreams</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_100">99</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">L. Irving, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A 2d Regiment "Who's Who"</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_102">101</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. Elmer Cates, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Eureka</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_106">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Fourth Company, N. E. Song</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_107">106</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />PART II&mdash;SONGS AND PARODIES</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Long, Long Trail</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_111">109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">G. Gilmore Davis, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Willie's Pa</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_112">110</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. Felbel and L. H. Davidow, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Company 2, New England</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_114">112</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Paul J. Field, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To the Reserve Cavalry</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_115">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">We're on Our Way to Deutschland</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_116">114</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Fletcher Clark, O. R. C., Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">I Want to Be a Colonel</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_117">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">I Want to Be a Doughboy</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_118">116</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kenneth Bonner, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Our Battle Hymn</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_119">117</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">New England Will Be Leading</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_121">119</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">On the Banks of the River Rhine</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_122">120</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">J. J. Riodan, Co. 3, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">The Simulating of the Green</span>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_123">121</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Joseph Gazzam, Jr., O. R. C., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Don't Send Me Home</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_125">123</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">E. M. Anderson, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Company Nine</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_126">124</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">O. W. Hauserman, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">We're On Our Way To Europe</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_128">126</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">T. L. Wood, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Company 5 Song</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_129">127</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Double Time</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_130">128</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">W. J. Littlefield, 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The 8th New England</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_132">130</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anonymous, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Marching on the Rhine</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_134">132</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Eggs&mdash;agerated</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_135">133</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Robert B. House, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">With Apologies To Kipling's "The Vampire"</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_136">134</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. E. Hall, 1st Troop, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Finis</span></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_138">136</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#cover">Cover</a> Illustration</span>, C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Let's Go!!</span></td><td align='right' colspan='2'><i><a href="#Page_2">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The First Time</span></td><td align='center'><i>Page</i></td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Right Dress&mdash;March!</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Test of Discipline</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">What's Your Name?</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Conference</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Always With Another Fellow</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mr. Sleeper, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">There's a Hungry Surgeon Waiting</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Shadow-pointin' Boche</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>S. O. S.</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mr. Baskerville, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Miss at 5 O'clock</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mess? Yes!!</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Title by Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">When East is West</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_91">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">With the Rookie to the End</span></td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right' valign='top'><a href="#Page_141">139</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mrs. Gertrude Crosby, Wife of Lieut. P. L. Crosby, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The End of a Perfect Day</span></td><td align='right' colspan='2' valign='top'><i><a href="#endpaper">End Papers</a></i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.</span></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PUBLICATION COMMITTEE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'>Edward F. Dalton, Chairman Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.<br />
+<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="1st P. T. R.">
+<tr><td align='center'>1st P. T. R.</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>W. Dyar, Co. 1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>P. J. Field, Co. 2</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>G. B. Blaine, Co. 3</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>A. F. Woodies, Co. 4</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>J. C. McMullin, Co. 5</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>R. T. Frye, Co. 5</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>M. B. Phipps, Co. 6</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>D. Loring, Jr., Co. 7</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>C. H. Ramsey, Co. 8</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>W. W. Webber, Co. 9</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>S. S. Gordon, Tr. 1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>R. B. Leake, Btry. 1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>D. E. Currier, Btry. 2</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />2nd P. T. R.</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>W. J. Littlefield, Btry. 3</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>T. C. Jessup, Co. 1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>E. E. Henderson, Co. 1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>F. J. Felbel, Co. 2</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Lieut. Kenneth McIntosh, Co. 4</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Capt. Richardson, Co. 5</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Pendleton King, Co. 6</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>H. MacKay, Co. 7</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Herbert Clock, Co. 9</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>E. S. Murphy, Btry. 1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>C. G. Shaw, Btry. 2</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>M. N. Kernochan, Btry. 3</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FOREWORD</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem3'>
+River that rolls to the restless deep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From sylvan-born placidity,</span><br />
+Stained issue of the undefiled<br />
+By your own wayward will exiled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the crystal lap of a land-locked sea,</span><br />
+<br />
+Read me the meaning of your mood.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The waters murmur as they flow,</span><br />
+"Strife is the law by which we live;<br />
+Stagnation, our alternative:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This is the only truth we know."</span><br />
+<br />
+The tides of mortal toilers meet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To merge their rhythms in bloody fray,</span><br />
+And, wave to wave, their armies call&mdash;<br />
+Nay, summon us that we shall all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Assume the role we choose to play.</span><br />
+<br />
+So, at the cry, in loyal breasts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As smaller self-concern recedes,</span><br />
+Still burns the old Achillean fire,<br />
+Still eager questing souls desire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not life but living, not days but deeds.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PART I<br />
+POEMS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+<h2>STANDING IN LINE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+When I applied for Plattsburg I stood for hours in line<br />
+To get a piece of paper which they said I had to sign;<br />
+When I had signed I stood in line (and my, that line was slow!)<br />
+And asked them what to do with it; they said they didn't know.<br />
+<br />
+And when I came to Plattsburg I had to stand in line,<br />
+To get a Requisition, from five o'clock till nine;<br />
+I stood in line till night for the Captain to endorse it;<br />
+But the Q. M. had one leggin' left; I used it for a corset.<br />
+<br />
+We stand in line for hours to get an issue for the squad;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>We stand in line for hours and hours to use the cleaning-rod;<br />
+And hours and hours and hours and hours to sign the roll for pay;<br />
+And walk for miles in double files on Inoculation day.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, Heaven is a happy place, its streets are passing fair,<br />
+And when they start to call the roll up yonder I'll be there;<br />
+But when they start to call that roll I certainly will resign<br />
+If some Reserve Archangel tries to make me stand in line.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illus021.png" width="450" height="135" alt="Little rookies in line with giant sergeants" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2>THE FIRST TIME</h2>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+My legs are moving to and fro<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel like a balloon;</span><br />
+How my head swims, first time I go<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To boss the damn platoon.</span><br />
+<br />
+My throat and mouth are full of paste<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's nothing in my hat;</span><br />
+My belt is winding round my waist<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But where's my stomach at?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Our Christian Science Battery<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a gun or horse,</span><br />
+Is just a simple oversight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That will be changed, of course.</span><br />
+<br />
+But while we're waiting patiently,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And longing for the day,</span><br />
+They have a funny little game<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They make us fellows play.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bill Hallstead <i>simulates</i> the gun<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's sort of short and fat</span><br />
+And doesn't look much like a gun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he's pretty good at that.</span><br />
+<br />
+And they've elected me a horse,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off-horse of the wheel pair;</span><br />
+I tie a white cloth on my arm<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">So they can see I'm there.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then when the battery is formed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With each man in his place,</span><br />
+They line the "pieces" in a row<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just like a chariot race.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bill Barnum's "Greatest Show on Earth"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has not a thing on us;</span><br />
+We tear around the old parade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And kick up <i>clouds</i> of dust.</span><br />
+<br />
+For it's gallop all the morning long,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They never let us walk.</span><br />
+Why, it gets so realistic<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I whinney when I talk.</span><br />
+<br />
+I wouldn't be a bit surprised<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I should hear some day</span><br />
+That instead of mess they'd issue us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That 14 lbs. of hay.</span><br />
+<br />
+And so I'm looking for the man<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The one who said to me:</span><br />
+"You don't want to be a 'doughboy,'<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go and join the battery."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illus024.png" width="400" height="264" alt="Right Dress&mdash;MARCH" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2>THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME</h2>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Lots of love to our lieutenant,"<br />
+Writes my mother;<br />
+And the letters from my brother<br />
+Contain facetious remarks about "majors" .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+He calls me "The Colonel" and laughs.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+But they mean it seriously,<br />
+Those back home.<br />
+They can't seem to realize<br />
+How shaky is our berth up here .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+How every "Retreat" means a brief respite;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>Each "Reveille" the dread<br />
+Of some more foolish blunder .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+Some new bone-play.<br />
+And yet sometimes our timid vanity<br />
+Blossoms under the warmth of their regard;<br />
+Our hopes take strength from their confidence in us.<br />
+<br />
+There came a blue envelope in the mail today.<br />
+A square envelope delicately scented with myrrh.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+And she ended with<br />
+"<i>Adieu, cher Capitaine</i>."<br />
+<br />
+That very morning<br />
+I started even our sphinx-faced commander<br />
+By bawling out: "Right dress&mdash;MARCH!"<br />
+<br />
+"<i>Adieu, cher Capitaine</i>,"<br />
+She had written,<br />
+And I can see the flecks of soft star dust in her eyes<br />
+As she thought it.<br />
+<br />
+Bitterly I swore at my luck .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+Then<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>Sent her that photograph taken of me<br />
+On July Fourth.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+Of me astride the horse of an officer.<br />
+I scrawled a jest under it.<br />
+<br />
+But what else could I do?<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/illus027.png" width="550" height="198" alt="A TEST OF DISCIPLINE" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Lady, in your stockings white,<br />
+As you flutter by the road,<br />
+You inspire me to write<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">An ode.</span><br />
+<br />
+Though upon my manly back<br />
+There reposes half a ton,<br />
+Why repine against a pack<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Or gun?</span><br />
+<br />
+Though the fire-tressed orb<br />
+Makes mirage upon the street;<br />
+Though the baking soil absorb<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My feet;</span><br />
+<br />
+Though the Sergeants stamp and rave;<br />
+Though the Captain's eye is flame;<br />
+Pray, how should my heart behave&mdash;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">The same?</span><br />
+<br />
+I become a thing of steel,<br />
+Buoyant none the less as cork;<br />
+Radiant from hat to heel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I walk.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lady, in your stockings white,<br />
+Don't you note my altered step?<br />
+Don't you feel, enchanting sprite,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My pep?</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+<h2>"AVOIRDUPOIS"</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I sing the song of a Fat Man<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Out on the skirmish line,</span><br />
+With a pack chock full of lead and bricks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A'hanging on behind.</span><br />
+<br />
+Maybe you think it's funny<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you're out there on the run,</span><br />
+Beside all that equipment<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be pullin' half a ton.</span><br />
+<br />
+The Captain has a heart of stone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It makes no odds to him;</span><br />
+He's there to teach you to skirmish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you'll skirmish fat or thin.</span><br />
+<br />
+D'you suppose he gives a tinker's damn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If when you're lying prone,</span><br />
+The pack comes up behind your ears<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whacks you on the dome?</span><br />
+<br />
+He just hollers "fire faster,"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though he knows you couldn't hit</span><br />
+The broad side of a barn door,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you were fifty feet from it.</span><br />
+<br />
+He doesn't care a little bit,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you're gasping hard for breath,</span><br />
+He's there to teach you to skirmish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you skirmish yourself to death.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, well, it's true about fat men<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Being always full of fun,</span><br />
+Good Lord, they've got to be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Cause they can neither fight nor run.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 282px;">
+<img src="images/illus033.png" width="282" height="400" alt="WHAT&#39;S YOUR NAME?" title="" />
+<span class="caption">WHAT&#39;S YOUR NAME?</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GO!</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Your lips say "Go!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eyes plead "Stay!"</span><br />
+Your voice so low<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faints away</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To nothing, dear&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">God keep me here!</span><br />
+<br />
+God end the war,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let us two</span><br />
+Travel far<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Love's road, you</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I in peace,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never to cease.</span><br />
+<br />
+Your lips say "Go!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eyes plead "Stay"&mdash;</span><br />
+Ah, how I know<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What price you pay.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE PLATTSBURG CODE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'>1</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+By Lake Champlain, where Bourbon tossed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dice of fortune and romance,</span><br />
+Where red-coats won and red-coats lost,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We soldiers train to fight in France.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though with no pomp and elegance</span><br />
+Of gold-laced beaux, we have their same<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old code of pluck and nonchalance&mdash;</span><br />
+"God give us guts to play the game."<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />2</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+May winds that sing like troubadours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of musket, sword and daring deed,</span><br />
+And ideals won in early wars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inspire each warrior to succeed;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fight that nations may be freed,</span><br />
+And through all hardships make his aim<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The punch of old-time heroes' creed&mdash;</span><br />
+God give us guts to play the game.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />3</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+And if to-morrow&mdash;who can tell?&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We hike along a hot white French</span><br />
+Highway, exposed to shrapnel shell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or occupy a first-line trench,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Midst poisoned gas and dead men's stench,</span><br />
+And hand grenades that burst and maim;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May not all hell our spirit quench&mdash;</span><br />
+God give us guts to play the game.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />4</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+If through entangled wires and mud,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charging the Boche, we madly run,</span><br />
+With comrades dropping, dyed with blood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sickening sights and sounds that stun,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in death's duel meet the Hun</span><br />
+'Midst shell holes, smoke, and battle flame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steel clashing steel and gun to gun&mdash;</span><br />
+God give us guts to play the game.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illus038.png" width="400" height="130" alt="Exhausted men" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2>A CONFERENCE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I was sleeping in the barracks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A week or so ago.</span><br />
+And in the midst of pleasant dreams<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard the whistle blow.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lord, how I hate those whistles!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, it was time to "rouse,"</span><br />
+So we marched down 'mongst the thistles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the old ice house.</span><br />
+<br />
+I looked around in misery,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last I took a seat,</span><br />
+With nothing to lean up against<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And no place for my feet.</span><br />
+<br />
+As I sat there in the drizzle<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a good old Plattsburg rain,</span><br />
+I wondered if I'd fizzle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lesson once again.</span><br />
+<br />
+The captain, who, like Nero<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Observing Rome in flames,</span><br />
+Was seated on a packing-box<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perusing all the names.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Mr. Whitney, won't you tell us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of patrols both front and rear?</span><br />
+Speak up, Mr. Whitney,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So the men in back can hear."</span><br />
+<br />
+"And please now, Mr. Warnock,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just tell us if you will</span><br />
+What you'd do with this problem<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you were Sergeant Hill?"</span><br />
+<br />
+"No! I'll ask you if I want you;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never mind the hands.</span><br />
+Warnock, <i>you</i> are Sergeant Hill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just call out your commands."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Whitney! Warnock! Gee, what luck!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I chortled in my glee.</span><br />
+My name is Brown, t'was very plain<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'd never get to me.</span><br />
+<br />
+So I listened to the questions<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the answers one by one,</span><br />
+And wondered if that 3rd degree<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was ever to be done.</span><br />
+<br />
+I thought of cups with handles on,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of napkins and clean hands;</span><br />
+I thought of all the pretty girls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That live in <i>Christian</i> lands.</span><br />
+<br />
+I thought of cakes, and pies, and things,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought of home in pain,</span><br />
+And wondered if I'd ever sleep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till 9 o'clock again.</span><br />
+<br />
+I wished I had some lager beer<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a nice silver fizz;</span><br />
+When, "Mr. Brown, you tell us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a special order is."</span><br />
+<br />
+I rose, saluted, brushed my pants<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then mutely gazed around.</span><br />
+I stood transfixed; the Captain said<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Sit down, Mr. Brown!</i>"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SUNDAY IN BARRACKS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Little silences<br />
+Sit in the corners<br />
+Munching their finger tips.<br />
+I lie stretched flat upon my bunk.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+I count the cracks in the pine-boards above me.<br />
+I am alone.<br />
+These others who fill the air with talk<br />
+About right and wrong .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. life and death .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+With heavy-nailed footsteps<br />
+And sometimes heavier profanity .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+What becomes of them on Sunday?<br />
+Dinners .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. the beauty of women .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+Pretty talk.<br />
+Camaraderie beside the lake .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. fellow for fellow,<br />
+What does it matter?<br />
+My little silences slide along the floor .&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+Clamber up my bunk<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>To grin at me in my loneliness.<br />
+Then I think of the millions<br />
+Who have none for whom to be lonely,<br />
+French, English, German, Russ.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br />
+What does it matter the language?<br />
+We are all one,<br />
+Levelled in solitude.<br />
+<br />
+And I laugh at the silences,<br />
+And laugh to see them scurrying back to their corners,<br />
+Gibbering.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'>I</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Since we came to Plattsburg Training Camp<br />
+Upon the 12th of May,<br />
+A lot of clever candidates<br />
+Have fallen by the way;<br />
+But the strangest fall among them all<br />
+Was Montmorency Gray.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Monty was a clever lad,<br />
+As bright as bright could be;<br />
+He came up days ahead of time&mdash;<br />
+Ahead of you and me&mdash;<br />
+And got in strong right from the start.<br />
+O a clever lad was he!<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />III</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+For Monty was an Officer<br />
+Of Uncle Sam's Reserve;<br />
+His uniform was spic and span<br />
+In every line and curve;<br />
+And what he lacked in other things,<br />
+He made up for in nerve.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />IV</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He learned the I.D.R. by heart<br />
+Before the 1st of June;<br />
+He used to study late at night,<br />
+And in the morning soon;<br />
+No wonder that the Captain let him<br />
+Lead the 1st Platoon.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />V</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He asked the cutest questions<br />
+In the study hall at night;<br />
+He knew the difference between<br />
+A Cut and Fill at sight.<br />
+And when it said: "What do you do?"<br />
+He always did just right.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />VI</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He memorized the map from<br />
+Chestnut Hill to Steven's Run;<br />
+He didn't have to draw a scale,<br />
+As we have always done;<br />
+He <i>knew</i> that you could see Five-Six&mdash;<br />
+Ty-Six from Six-O-One.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />VII</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+And then this tragic episode<br />
+Of which I write occurred.<br />
+It happened sometime in the night<br />
+Of June the 23rd<br />
+That Montmorency stole away,<br />
+And left no sign or word.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />VIII</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+We found at dawn that he had gone<br />
+And left us in the lurch.<br />
+The Colonel sent detachments out<br />
+For miles around to search;<br />
+A strong patrol to every knoll,<br />
+To every house, and church.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />IX</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+They found no trace in any place;<br />
+It caused a lot of talk;<br />
+They wired down to every town<br />
+From Plattsburg to New York.<br />
+As it was plain he took no train<br />
+He must have had to walk.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />X</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+'Twas well into the Fall before<br />
+The mystery was cleared.<br />
+(They'd never heard a single word<br />
+Since Monty disappeared),<br />
+When the Colonel had a caller,<br />
+An old farmer, with a beard.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />XI</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He said his name was Topper,<br />
+And he lived in Table Rock,<br />
+And what he told the Colonel<br />
+Gave the Old Man quite a shock;<br />
+They were closeted together<br />
+Until after ten o'clock.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />XII</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+From Gettysburg to Plattsburg<br />
+Mr. Topper came to say<br />
+How he'd found a man in uniform<br />
+Down near his home one day,<br />
+Who, judging from his clothing, must<br />
+Have walked a long, long way.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />XIII</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He told the sad and tragic tale<br />
+Of how he came to find,<br />
+While on his way to Hershey's Mill<br />
+With a load of corn to grind,<br />
+The young man wandering on a hill,<br />
+And wandering in his mind.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />XIV</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He took him to his farmhouse, where<br />
+For seven weeks he lay<br />
+And talked and muttered to himself<br />
+In a most peculiar way.<br />
+He gave his name before he died<br />
+As Montmorency Gray.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />XV</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+He seemed more sick than lunatic,<br />
+Mr. Topper had to grant;<br />
+As meek and mild as a little child,<br />
+He did not rave or rant,<br />
+He only cried, until he died:<br />
+"You ought to, <i>but you can't!</i>"<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/illus049.png" width="500" height="374" alt="ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW" title="" />
+<span class="caption">ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GIRLS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+They wander everywhere about<br />
+The dears in pink, the dreams in yellow,<br />
+With fetching smile, with pretty pout,<br />
+And always with another fellow.<br />
+<br />
+They spend their mornings baking cakes,<br />
+Their afternoons in making cookies;<br />
+And, oh! the soul within me aches&mdash;<br />
+Their sweets are all for other rookies.<br />
+<br />
+Often, when 'neath their eyes we pass,<br />
+I hear some maiden sigh divinely,<br />
+And murmur to another lass,<br />
+"Dear, isn't <i>Jackie</i> marching finely?"<br />
+<br />
+Ah, girls, a sorry lot is his&mdash;<br />
+Dull are his days, his nights are dreary&mdash;<br />
+Who knows no maiden where he is,<br />
+Who has no dame to call him "Dearie."<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A LAMENT</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<span class="smcap">After C. Lamb</span>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses<br />
+That used to range along the fragrant bar;<br />
+Gone, all are gone, and in their places<br />
+Milk, Pop and Dietade its beauty mar.<br />
+The Big Four now has turned to Prohibition,<br />
+Anh&auml;user Busch no longer sells at par,<br />
+Bar-maids have joined the Army of Salvation,<br />
+The voice of Bryan governs from afar;<br />
+All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses,<br />
+Where once they glistened on the fragrant bar.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE MANUAL</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Did you ever run into the butt of your gun,<br />
+Or dig the front sight with your nose?<br />
+Did your stomach turn over and stand up on end,<br />
+When you dropped the damn thing on your toes?<br />
+<br />
+When coming to Port did the rifle fall short,<br />
+And the swivel ram into your fist?<br />
+When the rest did present did you so intent<br />
+Find a count that the others had missed?<br />
+<br />
+And when at "Inspection" you clutched to perfection,<br />
+Then shot up the piece with a thrust,<br />
+Was there some dirty pup who pushed your cut-off up<br />
+So your bolt dug a cave in the dust?<br />
+<br />
+Then when on the range your windage you'd change<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>For the flag that the Anarchists wave,<br />
+And the old cocking piece smeared your nose with red "grease,"<br />
+Did you learn what it meant to be brave?<br />
+<br />
+How your old back did ache when you got the bad breaks<br />
+With the rifle that now has such charms,<br />
+And I'll make a good bet that you'll never forget<br />
+That exhausting old Manual of Arms.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />I</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+To put the pay in patriot<br />
+Is the order of the day.<br />
+And some delight to sing of fight<br />
+For royalties that pay.<br />
+The louder that the eagle screams<br />
+The more the dollars shout,<br />
+And, if you please, atrocities<br />
+Like this are handed out:&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Chorus)</span><br />
+I love you, dear America,<br />
+I love the starry flag,<br />
+We're proud to fight for you-oo-oo;<br />
+We never boast or brag.<br />
+We always will remember you,<br />
+We always will be true;<br />
+Maryland, my Maryland! hurrah, boys, hurrah!<br />
+As we go marching on to victory.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+That some are actuated<br />
+By intentions of the best,<br />
+Is surely clear, and so we fear<br />
+To class them with the rest.<br />
+And yet conceive some long-haired chap,<br />
+Or sentimental miss,<br />
+Who takes the time to fit a rhyme<br />
+To music, say, like this:&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Chorus)</span><br />
+I love you, yes, I love you,<br />
+And when I'm across the sea,<br />
+I'll take your picture to the front,<br />
+'Twill always be with me.<br />
+I shall not mind the bullets<br />
+When I am far away,<br />
+You'll be a soldier's sweetheart,<br />
+My girl in U. S. A.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+To make the war more horrible<br />
+Some chap will surely try<br />
+To set to rag the starry flag,<br />
+And dance the battle cry.<br />
+We only hope we may be spared;<br />
+It did not fail to come,<br />
+A dashing trot of shell and shot,<br />
+Of bugle call and drum.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Chorus)</span><br />
+That khaki glide! O! that army slide,<br />
+It seems to say:<br />
+"March away, march away!"<br />
+I feel so queer each time I hear<br />
+The music of that military band.<br />
+It's just too grand!<br />
+Fills me full of joy and pride,<br />
+See them marching side by side,<br />
+That's just the good old khaki glide!<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illus058.png" width="400" height="131" alt="Fainting rookie getting a shot" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>SATURDAY P.M.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />I</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When you've had a shave and a shower,<br />
+And have picked up all the news;<br />
+When you've donned your Sunday Stetson<br />
+And your shiny pair of shoes;<br />
+When your work for the week is over,<br />
+You think that you are through.<br />
+You're wrong, my son, you're wrong, my son<br />
+There's something more for you.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's the needle, the needle,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The prophylactic needle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a hungry surgeon waiting</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he's waiting just for you.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Tho' you lasted through the horrors<br />
+Of a test in skirmish drill,<br />
+And proved yourself a captain<br />
+When you bellowed "Fire at will!"<br />
+You are very much mistaken<br />
+If you think you've finished then;<br />
+There is something after luncheon<br />
+For all the Plattsburg men.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's the needle, the needle, etc.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />III</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Tho' you stood a strict inspection<br />
+And your dirty gun got by;<br />
+Tho' you'd grease spots on your breeches,<br />
+And the Captain winked his eye;<br />
+Tho' you ate your fill at dinner,<br />
+And enjoyed a Lucky Strike;<br />
+There is something at one-thirty<br />
+That I know you will not like.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's the needle, the needle, etc.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />IV</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Tho' you proved yourself a hero<br />
+After three hours in the line,<br />
+And when the doctor jabbed you<br />
+Just said, "Let's have a shine!"<br />
+And smoked a large-sized stogie<br />
+And thought that it was fun,<br />
+My noble-hearted candidate,<br />
+You'd only half begun.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's the needle, the needle, etc.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />V</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When you woke up at twelve-thirty<br />
+In a state of some alarm,<br />
+To feel a tortured muscle<br />
+In the region of your arm;<br />
+When you heard the groaning barracks,<br />
+You wiped your brow and said:<br />
+"Two million more next week-end,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>And I guess that I'll be dead."<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The needle, the needle,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The prophylactic needle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You softly damn the surgeon,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his needle tinged with red.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When first I landed in this camp<br />
+I used to write most every day<br />
+To all my friends I left behind,<br />
+And ask them what they had to say<br />
+About the old town and the girls,<br />
+Or what they thought about the war;<br />
+And in return the daily mail<br />
+It brought me letters by the score.<br />
+<br />
+But now my friends write me and ask<br />
+What keeps me from replying,<br />
+And when I answer, "It's the work,"<br />
+Why, they just think I'm lying.<br />
+So now the letters I receive<br />
+Are few and very far between;<br />
+They're mostly from my family<br />
+And never any from a queen.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;">
+<img src="images/illus063.png" width="410" height="158" alt="Charging a dummy" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ARMA FEMINAMQUE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+No man would doubt a woman's nerve,<br />
+We know you're brave enough;<br />
+You put a man to shame at times,<br />
+You're tender&mdash;and you're tough.<br />
+And yet I feel, with all your grit<br />
+And talk of cave-men stuff,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you're sorter out of place</span><br />
+When I'm twistin' up my face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-thrustin' and a-jabbin' with my gun-knife.</span><br />
+<br />
+There's some things in this queer old world<br />
+That's awkward things to see,<br />
+They can't be tied with ribbon<br />
+And they can't be served with tea.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>They're not the least bit sociable<br />
+And women&mdash;as for me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish you'd stay away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I'm training for the day</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I'm goin' to get in action with a gun-knife.</span><br />
+<br />
+This ain't no country club affair<br />
+Of smiles and clever skill;<br />
+There ain't no silver cups around<br />
+When doughboys train to kill.<br />
+It's you or me&mdash;and do it quick,<br />
+A simple murder drill.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I want no women 'round,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I'm tearin' up the ground,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shadow-pointin' Boches with my gun-knife.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;">
+<img src="images/illus064.png" width="375" height="195" alt="Bayonetting a dummy" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OUT O' LUCK</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If, in spite of hopes and promises, your pay day doesn't come,</span><br />
+If the sergeant antedates the call, or Friday's fish is bum,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the waiter empties soup on you&mdash;don't let 'em see you glum.</span><br />
+You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you must deploy your skirmish line with nothing in your dome,</span><br />
+Or send supporting picket-lines to countermarch the Somme,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chances are you've guessed it wrong and "may as well go home."</span><br />
+You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you drop between the battle-lines and no one finds the place,</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>Or jump into a pit and drive a bay'nit through your face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or try to stop a ten-inch shell and leave an empty space.</span><br />
+You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;">
+<img src="images/illus067.png" width="359" height="550" alt="S.O.S." title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SHERMAN WAS RIGHT</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+You may talk about your marching<br />
+And your stiff, close-order drill;<br />
+You may cuss out recitations,<br />
+And of skirmish have your fill;<br />
+The difficult manoeuvers<br />
+Which you do most every day<br />
+May get your goat like everything,<br />
+And spoil your Plattsburg stay.<br />
+But for me it's far, far harder<br />
+Makes me feel more like a prune,<br />
+To march at strict attention<br />
+Past the Hostess House at noon.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TROOPSHIP CHANTY</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The sea is green as green-pea soup<br />
+And half-way down the green-o,<br />
+A U-boat's lying snug and tight<br />
+All bellied out with dynamite,<br />
+And twenty guns between-o!<br />
+And twenty guns between-o!<br />
+<br />
+So scrape yer hatchways clear of brine,<br />
+And bawl yer jolly song-o.<br />
+For if she "blows," my lads, why, then<br />
+We'll blow her back to Hell again,<br />
+With compliments along-o!<br />
+With compliments along-o!<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THOSE RUMORS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He sauntered in</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a knowing grin,</span><br />
+The news he'd been to hear;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We knew right well</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He'd come to tell</span><br />
+The latest from the rear.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A hundred went," he said, "to-day,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Five hundred more must go they say;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Looks bad, Bill, guess you're on your way;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Darn few of us can hope to stay.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"I got this straight from a friend of mine,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A friend of his in Company 9,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Heard from a friend in Company 10,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That Company 5 lost fifty men."</span><br />
+With this you'd think<br />
+Our hopes would sink,<br />
+It ought to change our humor.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We knew the source,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So smiled of course,</span><br />
+It was an L. T. rumor.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WAR'S HORRORS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I hate to talk of a Regular<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without the proper respect;</span><br />
+But given a chance to criticize,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's a bunch that I'd select.</span><br />
+And they are those musical miscreants,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those malefactors of noise,</span><br />
+Those rookie Second Cavalrymen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The amateur bugle boys.</span><br />
+<br />
+They blow retreat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from head to feet</span><br />
+Coagulate your spine;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or at company drill</span><br />
+They send a chill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-shivering down the line.</span><br />
+Just try to salute<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their twittering toot,</span><br />
+Their yodeling, rasping groan,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their blithering bleat,</span><br />
+And you'll swear that they beat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hindu quarter-tone,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By Gad!</span><br />
+The Hindu quarter-tone.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CALL</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Spring to arms, ye sons of freedom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lift your country's ensign high;</span><br />
+Join her undefeated Army,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Succor France, her old ally.</span><br />
+Stand for freedom, truth and justice,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crush the Prussian tyrant's power;</span><br />
+Emulate your worthy forebears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their Homeland's crucial hour.</span><br />
+Britain, mother of your nation;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">France, her hope in ages past;</span><br />
+Belgium, home of peaceful people,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seared by foul oppression's blast;</span><br />
+Russia, newly born to freedom;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seeking honor, God and right,</span><br />
+Call on you to aid in crushing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prussianism's cursed blight.</span><br />
+Are ye men? Then meet the challenge<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As your fathers did of old;</span><br />
+Help the cause of all the races,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your muscle, brain, and gold.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illus075.png" width="450" height="382" alt="On the firing Line &quot;A Miss At 5 O&#39;clock&quot;" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BEANS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Consider then the Army bean<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So various and quaint.</span><br />
+Sometimes we find they're just plain beans,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then again they ain't.</span><br />
+They're funny shades of yellow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brown, green, and red, and white;</span><br />
+While striped and spotted, polka dotted<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beans our taste delight.</span><br />
+But nix on beans Manchurian,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beans of age Silurian,</span><br />
+Which same could stand a buryin',<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they come on&mdash;Good Night!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FORWARD "?"</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the parade,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Soft and low,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rookie hiccoughed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Forward, Ho!"</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Another youngster</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Feeling smart,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tried to shout,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Forward, Hart!"</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One requested,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Forward, How!"</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From somewhere else,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There came a "Yow!"</span><br />
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+<br />
+Perhaps a mile or so away<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We heard not "Harp!" nor "Harch!"</span><br />
+But stalwart Major Koehler's voice<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thunder, "Forward, March!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHANT OF A DERELICT</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sad is my song, mates, for I've got the axe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got to go, I've got to go;</span><br />
+Farewell to Plattsburg and life in the shacks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home I must go, I must go.</span><br />
+Told not to let such a small matter grieve me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sent to the parents who hate to receive me,</span><br />
+Hearing my story, they'll never believe me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got to go, got to go.</span><br />
+<br />
+No more to sleep in a two-story bunk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back I must go, I must go;</span><br />
+No more to sag 'neath a pack full of junk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home I must go, I must go.</span><br />
+Leaving the books I could never have learned,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buying a straw hat&mdash;the old one was burned&mdash;</span><br />
+Even the wrist watch must now be interned,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back I must go, I must go.</span><br />
+<br />
+Here is the moral of this plaintive cough,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sung as I go, moaned as I go;</span><br />
+Here is the reason for my sounding off,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now as I go, as I go:</span><br />
+Comrades in arms, oh! be prompt at formations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neat in your dress, and observe regulations,</span><br />
+Else, you, like me, will rejoin your relations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home you must go, you must go.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/illus081.png" width="550" height="165" alt="MESS? YES!!" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MESS? YES!!</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PREOCCUPATION</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The captain stops and yells to me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Wake up there, rear rank number three!"</span><br />
+And then, perchance, he makes some mention<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of how I do not pay attention.</span><br />
+But is it <i>my</i> fault? No, it's you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your persistent eyes of blue,</span><br />
+That halt the flow of reason's stream<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make me dream and dream and dream,</span><br />
+Until the captain comes and&mdash;well,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To put it plain&mdash;he gives me <i>Hell</i>.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INOCULATION DAY</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+My blood the surgeons fortify<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With antiseptic serum;</span><br />
+The dread bacilli I defy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What cause have I to fear 'em?</span><br />
+<br />
+We form outside the pest-house door<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At one o'clock precisely,</span><br />
+But if we get our dose at four<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We think we're doing nicely.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in our arm the surgeon stabs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hypodermic squirter,</span><br />
+E'en as the hungry hobo jabs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His fork in a frankfurter.</span><br />
+<br />
+I'm full of dope for smallpox germs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For typhus and such evils,</span><br />
+For broken heart and army worms,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">For chestnut blight and weevils.</span><br />
+<br />
+I'm doped against the bayonet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wielded by German demons;</span><br />
+But no one seems to think I'll get<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear old delirium tremens.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DON'T WEAKEN</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+When you feel on the bum and the outlook is glum,<br />
+And you're wonderin' what's comin' next;<br />
+When most every thing's drear and life loses its cheer,<br />
+And the Skip and Reverses are vexed;<br />
+If this Plattsburgish heat knocks you clean off your feet,<br />
+Or your bunkies they ain't even speakin';<br />
+Keep your shirt on your back, don't knock over the stack,<br />
+It's a great life, if you don't weaken.<br />
+<br />
+When they launder your sock till it ain't fit to hock,<br />
+When they shrink up your shirt like a rag;<br />
+If you blister your toes and then sunburn your nose<br />
+And then can't even go on a jag;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>Why, you're sure out of luck, but just pass the old buck,<br />
+Keep a stiff upper lip like a deacon;<br />
+Though you shoot ten straight blanks do not kick with the cranks,<br />
+Summon a grin and don't weaken.<br />
+<br />
+If you're late for retreat and must police the street,<br />
+If at reveille you're still in your bed;<br />
+If your girl sends you flags which some other cuss bags,<br />
+Or they clip all the hair off your head;<br />
+If the mess comes out burned,<br />
+So your stomach gets turned,<br />
+Or the "upper man" keeps you from sleepin';<br />
+Don't you growl, that won't help,<br />
+For they'll dub you a whelp;<br />
+Can the grouch&mdash;but don't weaken.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE THREE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Three dead men rose on nimble toes<br />
+Above the frozen clay;<br />
+And as they sped, each of the Dead<br />
+Told how he died that day.<br />
+<br />
+Said one, "I sent the Regiment<br />
+To safety as I fell."<br />
+The Second cried, "Before I died<br />
+I hurled the foe to Hell."<br />
+<br />
+As for the Third, he spoke no word<br />
+But hastened on his way,<br />
+Until at last a whisper passed:<br />
+"How did <i>you</i> die today?"<br />
+<br />
+"There was a maid slept unafraid<br />
+Within a hut," he said.<br />
+"I searched the place and for a space<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>I thought that all had fled.<br />
+<br />
+"But her breast glowed white in the morning light<br />
+As the early dawn grew red;<br />
+Tiptoe I came in lust and shame<br />
+And stood beside her bed.<br />
+<br />
+"And there I fought an evil thought<br />
+And won&mdash;and turned to go;<br />
+Then as I went into my tent<br />
+A bullet struck me low."<br />
+<br />
+The others heard and spoke no word<br />
+(For dead men understand),<br />
+But 'round they turned and their deep eyes burned<br />
+As they gripped his leaden hand.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TO THE LITTLE BLACK DOG</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+We see you in the morning<br />
+When Reveille implores;<br />
+We meet you in the evening<br />
+At end of daily chores.<br />
+On march, fatigue, or drilling<br />
+Our friend we find you still,<br />
+With kindly, pleasant bearing<br />
+And independent will.<br />
+You're small, you're thin, you're homely,<br />
+You're battered, scratched, and lame;<br />
+But in our tasks before us<br />
+Pray God we be as game!<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<img src="images/illus091.png" width="350" height="211" alt="Man with chart in wind" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>WHEN EAST IS WEST</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+See that man in khaki clothes,<br />
+Squirming in the dust;<br />
+Toying with a sketching board,<br />
+Uniform all mussed.<br />
+Squinting 'long a little stick,<br />
+Grunting fit to bust&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning out a road sketch</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br />
+<br />
+First he drills a "starting point."<br />
+Then he takes a "shot;"<br />
+Someone's scare-crow gets a line,<br />
+Closes Jones's lot.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>Paces stiffly down the road,<br />
+Worried&mdash;tense&mdash;and hot&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning out a road sketch</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now an "intersection point;"<br />
+Watch the compass turn.<br />
+Think to see him finger it<br />
+Bloomin' thing would burn.<br />
+Missed an inch by motor truck;<br />
+Eyes it proud and stern&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning out a road sketch</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br />
+<br />
+Plants an orchard in the road;<br />
+Leaves a forest bare.<br />
+Runs a railroad through a house;<br />
+Fakes a village square.<br />
+Twenty contours in a swamp,<br />
+Thirteen in the air&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calls the thing a road sketch</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For his Captain.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TO MY SWEETHEART</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I love you when the bugle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calls, "Awake, the day's begun!"</span><br />
+I love you as we work and<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweat and drill beneath the sun.</span><br />
+I love you at retreat, and<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the sun sinks out of view;</span><br />
+Sweetheart of mine! quite all the time,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I&mdash;love&mdash;you.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PLAY THE GAME</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When everything goes wrong<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it's hard to force a song,</span><br />
+The proper stunt we claim,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is to grin, and play the game.</span><br />
+<br />
+If things break worse than fair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Say the Frenchmen, "<i>C'est la Guerre</i>."</span><br />
+Which to them is just the same,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As to grin, and play the game.</span><br />
+<br />
+If you find the mess is punk&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kidney beans and other junk&mdash;</span><br />
+Try to eat it just the same;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stretch a grin, and play the game.</span><br />
+<br />
+When for nothing you've been bawled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though you've done your best get called,</span><br />
+And you know you're not to blame;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Force a grin, and play the game.</span><br />
+<br />
+When we're hit by some big shell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And almost catch a glimpse of hell;</span><br />
+When we think how close we came,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll just grin, and play the game.</span><br />
+<br />
+While our work is being done<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We will show the mighty Hun,</span><br />
+In the land from whence we came,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How we grin, and play the game.</span><br />
+<br />
+When the last long line is passed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the victory's ours at last,</span><br />
+Greater far will be the fame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we've grinned, and played the game.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE STADIUM, PLATTSBURG</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I hear the mighty song of singing men<br />
+Crashing among the pine-trees through the night,<br />
+And thund'ring, trumpet-wise, down every glen,<br />
+A song to France, whose soul is bleeding white.<br />
+<br />
+But hark!&mdash;out rings a deeper, stronger cry.<br />
+A Nation, which has newly learned to give,<br />
+Is singing as its sons go forth to die,<br />
+Because, God knows, they're going forth&mdash;to live!<br />
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+<br />
+O little Maid of France, who rests in Heaven,<br />
+Crowned with the Lilies Three (and Lilies Seven),<br />
+Send us the clear-eyed Faith that came to thee,<br />
+Praying beneath the pines, in Domremy.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake! 'tis morning, though it should not be&mdash;</span><br />
+Come, can the yawns, it's speed they want to see&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stagger forth upon a hostile world,</span><br />
+In flannel shirt and cotton pants O. D.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the phantoms of the night were done,</span><br />
+Methought I idled somewhere in the sun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Debating whether beauty to pursue,</span><br />
+Or touch a bell, and cultivate a bun.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lovely maids in garments pale did seem</span><br />
+To shimmer round me in continuous stream,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each with a glass of something in her hand,</span><br />
+And then I turned&mdash;and lo! it was a dream!<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ere the cock crew he that stood before</span><br />
+The barracks, shouted "Half a minute more!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belts, bayonets, and pieces&mdash;on the jump&mdash;</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>And signal-flags and alidades," O Lor'!<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sometimes think that never battles din</span><br />
+Were so unwelcome as the words "Fall in!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor any victory could taste so sweet</span><br />
+As French vermouth with ice and Gordon gin.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yesterday's problem 'twixt the Red and Blue</span><br />
+Involved our journey down the Road Peru;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The day before we took the Peru Road&mdash;</span><br />
+I'll bet a hat we're there to-morrow, too.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Myself when fresh and full of zeal and spunk,</span><br />
+Hung on the words whence wisdom should be drunk;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But this was all the harvest that I reaped&mdash;</span><br />
+To say "as fast as possible" is punk.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Platoon commanders, captains by the score,</span><br />
+Each takes his turn&mdash;and then is seen no more;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But no one ever thinks of him again</span><br />
+One half so kindly as they thought before.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-day's commander, with commands profuse,</span><br />
+To-morrow to the rear rank will reduce.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think, and you know not what he meant to say&mdash;</span><br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>He knows not neither, so&mdash;ah, what's the use?<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waste not your hour to criticize or blame,</span><br />
+You would have done it worse, or just the same.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Better to pack your troubles with your kit,</span><br />
+To keep your shirt on, and to play the game.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some for the shriek of shot and shell, and some</span><br />
+Sigh for the bottle of New England rum.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, face the facts, and let the fiction go&mdash;</span><br />
+I'll bet "<i>la vie des tranch&egrave;es</i>" will be bum.<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One moment's rest, then back into the mill</span><br />
+With butt and point to lacerate and kill.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I often wonder what the Germans teach</span><br />
+One half so cultured as our "Bay'net Drill."<br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For war is hell, and Plattsburg not a jest,</span><br />
+And yet, by gravy, we will do our best,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till submarine and Kaiser are forgot,</span><br />
+Or Angel Gabriel hollers out, "At rest!"<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DREAMS</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Says Captain Peek to Company Two,<br />
+"Let's have an exam to-day;<br />
+"So get your rifles and bayonet, boys,<br />
+"And fall in right away.<br />
+<br />
+"Line up whenever you're ready to go;<br />
+"At route step do squads right:<br />
+"Light up your pipes, roll up your sleeves,<br />
+"We'll try to make this light."<br />
+<br />
+With joyful faces they march to parade,<br />
+Fall out and rest on the grass.<br />
+"Will someone please perform right face?<br />
+"We'll let slight errors pass."<br />
+<br />
+Then Captain Peek shuts up that book<br />
+"I won't give one black mark.<br />
+"Officers, beat it; get the hook!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>"I'll drill you right till dark.<br />
+<br />
+"You seem to know the drill all right;<br />
+"Don't bother about those maps;<br />
+"Put on your 'civies' as fast as you can,<br />
+"And don't come back for taps."<br />
+<br />
+'Twill be thus perhaps in a happier land,<br />
+When they've run that American drive,<br />
+Where we drill in white all armed with harps;<br />
+But not while our Cap's alive.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A 2nd REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO"</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Major Collins is careful of<br />
+His regiment's health.<br />
+Lemonade and other things,<br />
+Taken on march,<br />
+Have been known to cause<br />
+Soldiers to die, and pie?<br />
+Perish the suggestion! 'Tis<br />
+Safe to bet the major<br />
+Was not born in New England.<br />
+<br />
+If in a deep wood or desert vast<br />
+One would never be lost<br />
+With Captain Barnes. He knows<br />
+How to orient the landscape<br />
+By sun or star.<br />
+<br />
+Lieutenant Meyer is tall,<br />
+He holds his hat on<br />
+By a strap<br />
+Under his chin.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>A cyclone couldn't blow it off.<br />
+<br />
+Captain Latrobe came on<br />
+From Texas way,<br />
+"Sif bofe" his saddle<br />
+And himself. He might as well<br />
+Have saved the freight on the saddle,<br />
+For he has no horse to ride on.<br />
+He leads his steedless troop<br />
+On charger invisible.<br />
+<br />
+Arnold, Major now, fares better.<br />
+His horse is real<br />
+And has white feet.<br />
+Do not talk to his<br />
+Command while it is marching,<br />
+Nor count for the men, or<br />
+The winning smile will<br />
+Turn into a volcano,<br />
+And you will be reduced to<br />
+A shapeless mass. Beware!<br />
+<br />
+Carr's horse is black,<br />
+And a beauty, too,<br />
+But neighs out loud; hence<br />
+Never should be used to patrol.<br />
+The enemy would listen, and<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Know you were near.<br />
+<br />
+The straightest man<br />
+On horseback is,<br />
+Doubtless, Wainwright;<br />
+And he doesn't lean backward to do it, either.<br />
+<br />
+Matthews has a deep voice;<br />
+No ear trumpet is needed to hear his commands.<br />
+He believes in exercise.<br />
+His men should be able to<br />
+Throw Samson or Sandow,<br />
+If they are not dead<br />
+By August Eleventh.<br />
+<br />
+Waldron knows how to patrol&mdash;<br />
+At least he wrote a book<br />
+For thirty cents.<br />
+He next should write a book on how<br />
+To spot a periscope when we cross the sea.<br />
+If we don't know that, we'll never<br />
+Spot anything else<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>But bubbles on the ocean's face.<br />
+<br />
+Capt. Goodwyn just came up<br />
+From Panama, and brought<br />
+Chivalry with him.<br />
+It's as hot here as there,<br />
+But he is showing us how<br />
+To make it hotter<br />
+For certain people<br />
+To the eastward.<br />
+<br />
+There is a fat Q.M.,<br />
+Whose name is<br />
+Unknown, but not his form.<br />
+Once seen<br />
+Never forgotten;<br />
+He must have<br />
+The keys to the ice-box.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+<h2>EUREKA</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+It may be from hot Tallahassee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It may be from cold northern Nome,</span><br />
+But there's nothing that can be compared with<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That BIG little letter from home.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FOURTH COMPANY, N.E. SONG</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+'Way up in Plattsburg, right near the northern border,<br />
+They sent us off in May,<br />
+There for three months to stay,<br />
+So we could all become lieutenants.<br />
+Then when they put us all in comp'nies<br />
+We made New England Four.<br />
+It's the finest little company<br />
+That ever did Squads Right and ran into a tree.<br />
+New England, you've got to hand it to us&mdash;<br />
+Good old Company Four!<br />
+<br />
+'Way up in Plattsburg&mdash;that's where they make us soldiers&mdash;<br />
+They drill us every day.<br />
+Damn little time for play,<br />
+'Cause when we do not drill we study.<br />
+New England number four's our comp'ny,<br />
+We're always full of pep.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>Now if you want some men for good, hard work<br />
+You'll always find this company will never shirk.<br />
+New England, you've got to hand it to us&mdash;<br />
+Good old Company Four!<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PART II<br />
+
+SONGS AND PARODIES</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+<h2>LONG, LONG TRAIL</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: There's a Long Trail</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+There's a long, long trail before us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into No-Man's land in France,</span><br />
+Where the shrapnel shells are bursting,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we must advance.</span><br />
+<br />
+There'll be lots of drill and hiking,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before our dreams all come true,</span><br />
+But some day we'll show the Germans,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the Yankees come through.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WILLIE'S PA</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Solomon Levi</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>I</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+O, Willie Jones's fond mamma brought him to Plattsburg town,<br />
+To see his father at the Camp go marching up and down;<br />
+And Willie grew excited as the band began to play,<br />
+And when he saw his papa march, the people heard him say:<br />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+<div class='poem4'>
+"O, look at him, Ma-ma, ain't he simply grand?<br />
+See the way he holds his gun and swings his other hand.<br />
+The Captain's walking up in front, and now he's calling 'hep,'<br />
+And everyone but my papa is marching out of step."<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+O, Willie Jones, he loved to see the soldiers marching by,<br />
+He went down to the target range to see the bullets fly,<br />
+And every time they made a shot, he cried "Ain't that a beaut!"<br />
+And clapped his hands in glee to see his papa start to shoot.<br />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+<div class='poem4'>
+"O, look at him, Ma-ma, see him hold his gun,<br />
+And every time he shoots it off it hits him on the bun.<br />
+He puts his hand around the thing and gives an awful pull,<br />
+The red flag there is waving, O! it must have been a bull."<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
+<h2>COMPANY 2 NEW ENGLAND</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Lord Geoffry Amherst"</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+Oh, good old Uncle Sam declared a war on Kaiser Bill,<br />
+When, his pledges "Bill" neglected to fulfill;<br />
+And the War Department ordered that a training camp should be,<br />
+So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?<br />
+So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?<br />
+And the men from all New England came along and gathered there,<br />
+And the companies they chose with greatest care.<br />
+But out of all the candidates selected but a few<br />
+To organize New England Number 2.<br />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+<div class='poem4'>
+Oh, Captain Peek and Company Two<br />
+They'll be names known to fame the whole world o'er.<br />
+They will ever be glorious<br />
+When the Hohenzollerns reign no more.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TO THE RESERVE CAVALRY</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: The Infantry, the Infantry, with Dirt Behind
+Their Ears</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>I</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+The Cavalry, the Cavalry, they haven't any horse,<br />
+They're taking riding lessons by a correspondence course,<br />
+You'd think they were equestrians to hear the way they talk,<br />
+But when it comes to riding, why! We always see them walk.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+The Cavalry, the Cavalry, are marching down the street,<br />
+The Cavalry, the Cavalry, with blisters on their feet,<br />
+The Artillery is mounted now and ready for the course;<br />
+But we never see the Cavalry with any kind of horse.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO DEUTSCHLAND</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Hit the Line for Harvard</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+We're on our way to Deutschland,<br />
+We're Yankees through and through,<br />
+And we'll show the Huns of Germ'ny<br />
+What the U. S. A. can do.<br />
+With France and Old England,<br />
+Victory or die;<br />
+And we'll give a rousing cheer, boys,<br />
+As the allied flags go by.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I WANT TO BE A COLONEL</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: I Want to Be Back Home in Dixie</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+I want to be, I want to be, I want to be at least a Colonel,<br />
+Have the Majors handing me salutes, and a man to black my boots.<br />
+I want to be, I want to be, at least a Colonel, C-O-L-O-N-E-L,<br />
+Hold down a desk and give the captains Hell.<br />
+I want to be, I want to be, I want to be a Colonel <i>now!</i><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I WANT TO BE A DOUGHBOY</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: I Want to Be a Yale Boy</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+I want to be a doughboy,<br />
+Doughboy tried and true;<br />
+I want to be a doughboy,<br />
+With a hat cord of baby blue.<br />
+I want to be a doughboy,<br />
+Do as the doughboys do;<br />
+So, papa, if I can<br />
+When I get to be a man,<br />
+I want to be a doughboy, too.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OUR BATTLE HYMN</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(Air: "Battle Hymn of the Republic")<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>I</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+We have heard a lot about a place they call "Somewhere in France,"<br />
+And we're going "Over There" to put some pep in the advance;<br />
+"There's a long, long trail before us," but you bet we'll take the chance,<br />
+As Five goes marching on.<br />
+</div>
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+<div class='poem4'>
+Glory, glory, for we're going to beat the Hun,<br />
+Old Hindenburg will execute a new strategic run,<br />
+And Kaiser Bill will find he has no place beneath the sun,<br />
+When Five goes marching on.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />II</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>We are handy with the rifle and the bayonet and such;<br />
+And though Fritz is used to running and is sort of hard to touch,<br />
+We will show him when we get there that it doesn't matter much,<br />
+When Five is marching on.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />III</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+You may say that we're not modest, but our faults we will confess,<br />
+We hate to rise at Reveille, we're not too fond of mess;<br />
+And we never, never, never get a good line at Right Dress,<br />
+But we do keep marching on.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />IV</div>
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+Now all you other fellows who are going overseas,<br />
+Just remember that we guarantee the foeman to appease;<br />
+So when you hear we're coming you may rest or stand at ease,<br />
+When Five goes marching on.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='center'><br />(Chorus)<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NEW ENGLAND WILL BE LEADING</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: John Brown's Body</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+New England will be leading when we're marching up the Rhine,<br />
+New York will be the rear guard and we'll leave them far behind,<br />
+We'll conquer German cities and we'll capture Kaiser Bill,<br />
+As we go marching on.<br />
+Glory, glory to New England!<br />
+Glory, glory to New England!<br />
+Glory, glory to New England!<br />
+As we go marching on.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Through Those Wonderful Glasses of Mine"</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+Germany, we're coming over, we are going straight to France;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We are praying for a chance,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just to make your soldiers dance.</span><br />
+Kaiser Bill, your doom is coming; take a tip, old top, RESIGN!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we'll drink beer in June,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the light of the moon,</span><br />
+On the banks of the River Rhine.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
+<h2>"THE SIMULATING OF THE GREEN"</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Wearing of the Green"</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem4'>
+Oh, Major dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?<br />
+We Cavalry must simulate till horses can be found;<br />
+We gallop and we single-foot as handsome as can be,<br />
+But on our own two feet we ride&mdash;a horse you'll never see.<br />
+'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green;<br />
+A hundred men a-riding where no horses can be seen.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, Colonel dear, ye'll grieve to hear Artillery's the same,<br />
+Compared to simulating guns, a horse is rather tame;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>Last night I was the left rear wheel&mdash;it made me moighty sore,<br />
+But dommed if I will be the swab and crawl inside the bore.<br />
+'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green,<br />
+A-firing rounds and salvos where no cannons can be seen.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DON'T SEND ME HOME</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Don't Take Me Home</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Don't send me home, please don't send me home.<br />
+Tell me, where did I make that break?<br />
+Oh, oh, oh, oh, have a little pity.<br />
+I'm a poor candidate, in search of war I roam.<br />
+I'll do anything you want me to, but don't<br />
+Send me home.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
+<h2>COMPANY NINE</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "Far Above Cayuga's Water"</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Hark, ye Rookies, to the chorus<br />
+Of old Company Nine;<br />
+Captains, Colonels, all adore us,<br />
+When we fall in line.<br />
+Tho' we're doughboys, we're not slow boys,<br />
+Thanks to Sargeant Hill;<br />
+And when we take our stand in Deutschland,<br />
+Lord help Kaiser Bill!<br />
+<br />
+In the morning at the warning,<br />
+"Clothes on Company Nine!"<br />
+Feeling rocky, into khaki<br />
+Jumps our valiant line.<br />
+We shun strawberries in the valley<br />
+Off the Peru road,<br />
+But in mess shack none can beat us<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>At the order "Load!"<br />
+<br />
+In Pabst-less Plattsburg, bone-dry rookies,<br />
+Waiting for our kale,<br />
+Our healths we drink in foamless bumpers,<br />
+Full of Adam's ale.<br />
+But when the "Sammies" take their M&uuml;nchener<br />
+On the river Rhine,<br />
+The toast will be to old New England<br />
+And to Company Nine.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO EUROPE</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: "My Wife's Away in Europe"</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+We're on our way to Europe,<br />
+And we won't come back.<br />
+And we won't come back.<br />
+We're going to shoot an awful pill<br />
+Into the hide of Kaiser Bill.<br />
+Von Hindenburg can't stop us;<br />
+We laugh at him, hee! hee!<br />
+We've shot the pistol twice before,<br />
+Can't hit the side of a barn door.<br />
+We're on our way to Europe<br />
+To lay Bill cross our knee.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>COMPANY 5 SONG</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Original Music by Mr. H. T. Morgan</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>1</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+On guard! We're always on our toes;<br />
+Plattsburg has taught us pep.<br />
+We're good at being Red or Blue,<br />
+But oh, that step!<br />
+Though we may lose a few patrols,<br />
+Just watch the Allied drive.<br />
+Right where they reach the Rhine, there<br />
+You'll find New England Five.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />2</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Forward! We're on our way to France;<br />
+We'll make it hot for Fritz.<br />
+With bayonet or rifle,<br />
+Watch us score all hits.<br />
+Heads up! We're after Hindenburg,<br />
+We'll show him we're alive;<br />
+When we get through with him, he<br />
+Will know New England Five.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DOUBLE TIME</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Tammany</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Double time, double time!<br />
+We're the boys with running feet,<br />
+And we never mind the heat.<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+Battr'y three, you always see at<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br />
+<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+On the run we always keep,<br />
+We even do it in our sleep.<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+When we eat our food goes down at<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br />
+<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+Always jump and run like Hell,<br />
+Faster than a British shell.<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+Boche can't hit us, for we move at<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br />
+<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+It's the surest road to fame,<br />
+If you live and don't get lame.<br />
+Double time, double time!<br />
+Hammond's favorite outdoor sport is<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Double time.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Michael Roy</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+The Eighth New England Infantry is the one that shows them how;<br />
+If Kaiser Bill could see us drill, the war would be over now.<br />
+Out in front of the Hostess House, as we go marching by<br />
+Where the ladies are sitting, they drop their knitting, and all begin to cry:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."</span><br />
+<br />
+If Elihu Root could see us shoot out on the rifle range<br />
+He'd send us to Russia to help lick Prussia&mdash;oh, what a glorious change!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>If General Pershing could hear us cursing the whistle that blows too soon,<br />
+There'd be a decree that reveille would come in the afternoon.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MARCHING ON THE RHINE</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>(<i>Air: Rocky Road to Dublin</i>)<br /><br /></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+When marching on the Rhine, boys,<br />
+We'll be singing this song<br />
+As we're marching along.<br />
+When marching on the Rhine, boys,<br />
+On our hunt for Kaiser Bill,<br />
+We'll shoot the Germans out of France,<br />
+We'll keep them on the run;<br />
+When we get there the world will know,<br />
+New England has begun,<br />
+To fight for Uncle Sammy.<br />
+We'll do our best,<br />
+And never will rest,<br />
+Until Old Glory rises to the sun.<br />
+Over the sea, boys,<br />
+Over the sea to Victory,<br />
+New England will fight on forever.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+<h2>EGGS&mdash;AGERATED</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Since I've come to Plattsburg<br />
+I've eaten so many eggs,<br />
+That feathers now adorn my skin,<br />
+And spurs are on my legs.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE"</h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+A fool there was, and he made his prayer,<br />
+(Even as you and I)<br />
+Tho't he would hold down a colonel's chair,<br />
+So he came up here to do and dare,<br />
+But the skipper decided he wasn't there,<br />
+(Even as you and I).<br />
+<br />
+Oh, the days we waste, and the pay we waste,<br />
+And the work of our hands and feet<br />
+Belong to the days we did not know,<br />
+(And now we know we never could know)<br />
+Enough to stand still at retreat.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, the sleep we lost and the weight we lost,<br />
+And the things we had to eat<br />
+Can never come back to make us want,<br />
+(We hope they can't and pray they sha'n't)<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>If they did we'd admit we were beat.<br />
+<br />
+The fool was stripped to his foolish hide,<br />
+(Even as you and I)<br />
+And they wouldn't let him be rear guide,<br />
+(So some of him lived, but the most of him died)<br />
+And he stayed a "rookie" just outside<br />
+(Even as you and I).<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
+<h2><i>FINIS</i></h2>
+
+
+<div class='poem5'>
+There's a lot that's pretty funny in the life we lead up here,<br />
+The problems and the hikin' and the mess;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sometimes when I'm all alone I get a little blue,</span><br />
+And that's the way with everyone, I guess.<br />
+<br />
+I often sit and wonder what it's really all about,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And what the end of all this will be;</span><br />
+It seems almost impossible that we will be at war,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And see the things a soldier has to see.</span><br />
+<br />
+It's something more than just parade and something more than drill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And something more than hiking in the rain.</span><br />
+It means that lots of friends we've made are going over seas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some of them will not come back again.</span></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+<div class='poem5'>There's not a single man of us who really wants to fight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And maybe die somewhere in France&mdash;but then,</span><br />
+It's war, and since it must be done, we'll try to do it right.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God willing, we'll acquit ourselves like men.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illus141.png" width="400" height="400" alt="With the Rookie to the End." title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a name="endpaper" id="endpaper"></a>
+<img src="images/endpaper.png" width="600" height="452" alt="Endpaper" title="" />
+</div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class='tnote'><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b>
+
+<p>Table of Contents: The page numbering in the Table of Contents is off by
+one beginning with THE CALL which the Table of Contents indicates should be on page
+73. It actually begins on the next page. By the end of the book the page numbering is
+off by two. The final poem "Finis" is on page 138. I have edited the links in
+the Table of Contents so that the reader will go to the correct page even though
+the original page numbers have been retained, i.e. clicking on the link for 136
+will take you to page 138.</p>
+<p>Closing quotes were added to both stanzas of the
+poem "THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND" which begins on <a href="#Page_132">page 132</a>.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by 
+The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
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+</pre>
+
+</body>
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@@ -0,0 +1,2935 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by
+The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Rookie Rhymes
+
+Author: The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+Illustrator: C. L. Yates et al
+
+Release Date: November 10, 2010 [EBook #34269]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKIE RHYMES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Let's Go!!]
+
+
+
+
+ROOKIE RHYMES
+
+BY THE MEN OF THE 1st. and 2nd. PROVISIONAL TRAINING REGIMENTS
+PLATTSBURG, NEW YORK
+
+MAY 15--AUGUST 15 1917
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+          NEW YORK AND LONDON
+
+
+
+
+          ROOKIE RHYMES
+
+          Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
+          Printed in the United States of America
+          Published September, 1917
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  _Page_
+
+  PUBLICATION COMMITTEE                               13
+
+  FOREWORD                                            15
+      Robert Tapley, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+
+  PART I--POEMS
+
+  STANDING IN LINE                                    19
+      Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE FIRST TIME                                      21
+
+  ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE                            22
+      D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME                        24
+      Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS                    29
+      Robert Cutler, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  "AVOIRDUPOIS"                                       31
+      D. E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P.T.R.
+
+  GO!                                                 35
+      J. S. O'Neale, Jr., Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  THE PLATTSBURG CODE                                 36
+      R. L. Hill, Co. 5, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  A CONFERENCE                                        38
+      Donald E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  SUNDAY IN BARRACKS                                  41
+      Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY                      43
+      Pendleton King, Co. 6, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  GIRLS                                               51
+      Robert M. Benjamin, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A LAMENT                                            52
+      H. Chapin, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE MANUAL                                          53
+      George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS                             55
+      Frank J. Felbel, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  SATURDAY P.M.                                       58
+      Harold Amory, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED                             62
+      C. K. Stodder, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  ARMA FEMINAMQUE                                     63
+      W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  OUT O' LUCK                                         65
+      W. K. Rainsford, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  SHERMAN WAS RIGHT                                   69
+      Joe F. Trounstine, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  TROOPSHIP CHANTY                                    70
+      Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  THOSE RUMORS                                        71
+      F. L. Bird, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WAR'S HORRORS                                       72
+      Kenneth McIntosh, 2d Lieut. O. R. C., Co. 4,
+                 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE CALL                                            73
+      Allen Bean MacMurphy, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  BEANS                                               74
+      Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  FORWARD "?"                                         77
+      John W. Wilber, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  CHANT OF A DERELICT                                 78
+      Ed. Burrows, Co. 3, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  PREOCCUPATION                                       80
+      Charles H. Ramsey, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  INOCULATION DAY                                     83
+      Morris Bishop, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  DON'T WEAKEN                                        85
+      R. T. Fry, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE THREE                                           87
+      Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  TO THE LITTLE BLACK DOG                             89
+      A. N. Phillips, Jr., 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WHEN EAST IS WEST                                   90
+      W. R. Witherell, Co. 7, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  TO MY SWEETHEART                                    92
+      Every Rookie in Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  PLAY THE GAME                                       93
+      E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE STADIUM, PLATTSBURG                             95
+      Harold Speakman, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE                  96
+      W. Kerr Rainsford, Co. 7, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  DREAMS                                              99
+      L. Irving, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A 2D REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO"                          101
+      J. Elmer Cates, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  EUREKA                                             105
+      E. F. D., Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  FOURTH COMPANY, N. E. SONG                         106
+      George S. Clarkson, Co. 4, 1st P. T. R.
+
+
+  PART II--SONGS AND PARODIES
+
+  LONG, LONG TRAIL                                   109
+      G. Gilmore Davis, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WILLIE'S PA                                        110
+      J. Felbel and L. H. Davidow, Co. 2, 2d
+        P. T. R.
+
+  COMPANY 2, NEW ENGLAND                             112
+      Paul J. Field, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  TO THE RESERVE CAVALRY                             113
+      F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO DEUTSCHLAND                    114
+      Lieut. Fletcher Clark, O. R. C., Co. 10,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  I WANT TO BE A COLONEL                             115
+      F. E. Horpel, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  I WANT TO BE A DOUGHBOY                            116
+      Kenneth Bonner, Co. 10, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  OUR BATTLE HYMN                                    117
+      James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  NEW ENGLAND WILL BE LEADING                        119
+      Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE                    120
+      J. J. Riodan, Co. 3, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  "THE SIMULATING OF THE GREEN"                      121
+      Lieut. Joseph Gazzam, Jr., O. R. C., Co. 2,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  DON'T SEND ME HOME                                 123
+      E. M. Anderson, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  COMPANY NINE                                       124
+      O. W. Hauserman, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO EUROPE                         126
+      T. L. Wood, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  COMPANY 5 SONG                                     127
+      James C. McMullin, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  DOUBLE TIME                                        128
+      W. J. Littlefield, 3d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND                                130
+      Anonymous, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  MARCHING ON THE RHINE                              132
+      Lieut. Cyril C. Reynolds, O. R. C., Co. 10,
+                1st P. T. R.
+
+  EGGS--AGERATED                                     133
+      Robert B. House, Co. 8, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE"          134
+      R. E. Hall, 1st Troop, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  FINIS                                              136
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  COVER ILLUSTRATION, C. L. Yates, Co. 1,
+      1st P. T. R.
+
+  LET'S GO!!                                  _Frontispiece_
+      Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2,
+        2d P. T. R.
+
+  THE FIRST TIME                                  _Page_ 21
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  RIGHT DRESS--MARCH!                               "    24
+      C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A TEST OF DISCIPLINE                              "    27
+      C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WHAT'S YOUR NAME?                                 "    33
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A CONFERENCE                                      "    38
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW                        "    49
+      Mr. Sleeper, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  THERE'S A HUNGRY SURGEON WAITING                  "    58
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  A SHADOW-POINTIN' BOCHE                           "    63
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  S. O. S.                                          "    67
+      Mr. Baskerville, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  A MISS AT 5 O'CLOCK                               "    75
+      C. L. Yates, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  MESS? YES!!                                       "    81
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+      Title by Anch Kline, Co. 1, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WHEN EAST IS WEST                                 "    90
+      R. K. Leavitt, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+  WITH THE ROOKIE TO THE END                        "   139
+      Mrs. Gertrude Crosby, Wife of Lieut. P. L.
+        Crosby, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
+
+  THE END OF A PERFECT DAY                       _End Papers_
+      Lieut. P. L. Crosby, O. R. C., Co. 2,
+        2d P. T. R.
+
+
+
+
+PUBLICATION COMMITTEE
+
+
+Edward F. Dalton, Chairman Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
+
+
+1st P. T. R.
+
+          W. Dyar, Co. 1
+          P. J. Field, Co. 2
+          G. B. Blaine, Co. 3
+          A. F. Woodies, Co. 4
+          J. C. McMullin, Co. 5
+          R. T. Frye, Co. 5
+          M. B. Phipps, Co. 6
+          D. Loring, Jr., Co. 7
+          C. H. Ramsey, Co. 8
+          W. W. Webber, Co. 9
+          S. S. Gordon, Tr. 1
+          R. B. Leake, Btry. 1
+          D. E. Currier, Btry. 2
+
+
+2nd P. T. R.
+
+          W. J. Littlefield, Btry. 3
+          T. C. Jessup, Co. 1
+          E. E. Henderson, Co. 1
+          F. J. Felbel, Co. 2
+          Lieut. Kenneth McIntosh, Co. 4
+          Capt. Richardson, Co. 5
+          Pendleton King, Co. 6
+          H. MacKay, Co. 7
+          Herbert Clock, Co. 9
+          E. S. Murphy, Btry. 1
+          C. G. Shaw, Btry. 2
+          M. N. Kernochan, Btry. 3
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+          _River that rolls to the restless deep
+             From sylvan-born placidity,
+           Stained issue of the undefiled
+           By your own wayward will exiled
+             From the crystal lap of a land-locked sea,_
+
+          _Read me the meaning of your mood.
+             The waters murmur as they flow,
+           "Strife is the law by which we live;
+           Stagnation, our alternative:
+             This is the only truth we know."_
+
+          _The tides of mortal toilers meet
+             To merge their rhythms in bloody fray,
+           And, wave to wave, their armies call--
+           Nay, summon us that we shall all
+             Assume the role we choose to play._
+
+          _So, at the cry, in loyal breasts,
+             As smaller self-concern recedes,
+           Still burns the old Achillean fire,
+           Still eager questing souls desire
+             Not life but living, not days but deeds._
+
+
+
+
+PART I
+
+POEMS
+
+
+
+
+STANDING IN LINE
+
+
+          When I applied for Plattsburg I stood for hours in line
+          To get a piece of paper which they said I had to sign;
+          When I had signed I stood in line (and my, that line was slow!)
+          And asked them what to do with it; they said they didn't know.
+
+          And when I came to Plattsburg I had to stand in line,
+          To get a Requisition, from five o'clock till nine;
+          I stood in line till night for the Captain to endorse it;
+          But the Q. M. had one leggin' left; I used it for a corset.
+
+          We stand in line for hours to get an issue for the squad;
+          We stand in line for hours and hours to use the cleaning-rod;
+          And hours and hours and hours and hours to sign the roll for pay;
+          And walk for miles in double files on Inoculation day.
+
+          Oh, Heaven is a happy place, its streets are passing fair,
+          And when they start to call the roll up yonder I'll be there;
+          But when they start to call that roll I certainly will resign
+          If some Reserve Archangel tries to make me stand in line.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST TIME
+
+          My legs are moving to and fro
+            I feel like a balloon;
+          How my head swims, first time I go
+            To boss the damn platoon.
+
+          My throat and mouth are full of paste
+            There's nothing in my hat;
+          My belt is winding round my waist
+            But where's my stomach at?
+
+
+
+
+ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE
+
+
+          Our Christian Science Battery
+            Without a gun or horse,
+          Is just a simple oversight,
+            That will be changed, of course.
+
+          But while we're waiting patiently,
+            And longing for the day,
+          They have a funny little game
+            They make us fellows play.
+
+          Bill Hallstead _simulates_ the gun
+            He's sort of short and fat
+          And doesn't look much like a gun,
+            But he's pretty good at that.
+
+          And they've elected me a horse,
+            Off-horse of the wheel pair;
+          I tie a white cloth on my arm
+            So they can see I'm there.
+
+          Then when the battery is formed
+            With each man in his place,
+          They line the "pieces" in a row
+            Just like a chariot race.
+
+          Bill Barnum's "Greatest Show on Earth"
+            Has not a thing on us;
+          We tear around the old parade
+            And kick up _clouds_ of dust.
+
+          For it's gallop all the morning long,
+            They never let us walk.
+          Why, it gets so realistic
+            That I whinney when I talk.
+
+          I wouldn't be a bit surprised
+            If I should hear some day
+          That instead of mess they'd issue us
+            That 14 lbs. of hay.
+
+          And so I'm looking for the man
+            The one who said to me:
+          "You don't want to be a 'doughboy,'
+            Go and join the battery."
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Right Dress--MARCH]
+
+
+
+
+THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME
+
+          "Lots of love to our lieutenant,"
+          Writes my mother;
+          And the letters from my brother
+          Contain facetious remarks about "majors" ...
+          He calls me "The Colonel" and laughs....
+          But they mean it seriously,
+          Those back home.
+          They can't seem to realize
+          How shaky is our berth up here ...
+          How every "Retreat" means a brief respite;
+          Each "Reveille" the dread
+          Of some more foolish blunder ...
+          Some new bone-play.
+          And yet sometimes our timid vanity
+          Blossoms under the warmth of their regard;
+          Our hopes take strength from their confidence in us.
+
+          There came a blue envelope in the mail today.
+          A square envelope delicately scented with myrrh....
+          And she ended with
+          "_Adieu, cher Capitaine_."
+
+          That very morning
+          I started even our sphinx-faced commander
+          By bawling out: "Right dress--MARCH!"
+
+          "_Adieu, cher Capitaine_,"
+          She had written,
+          And I can see the flecks of soft star dust in her eyes
+          As she thought it.
+
+          Bitterly I swore at my luck ...
+          Then
+          Sent her that photograph taken of me
+          On July Fourth....
+          Of me astride the horse of an officer.
+          I scrawled a jest under it.
+
+          But what else could I do?
+
+[Illustration: A TEST OF DISCIPLINE]
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS
+
+
+          Lady, in your stockings white,
+          As you flutter by the road,
+          You inspire me to write
+                  An ode.
+
+          Though upon my manly back
+          There reposes half a ton,
+          Why repine against a pack
+                  Or gun?
+
+          Though the fire-tressed orb
+          Makes mirage upon the street;
+          Though the baking soil absorb
+                  My feet;
+
+          Though the Sergeants stamp and rave;
+          Though the Captain's eye is flame;
+          Pray, how should my heart behave--
+                  The same?
+
+          I become a thing of steel,
+          Buoyant none the less as cork;
+          Radiant from hat to heel
+                  I walk.
+
+          Lady, in your stockings white,
+          Don't you note my altered step?
+          Don't you feel, enchanting sprite,
+                  My pep?
+
+
+
+
+"AVOIRDUPOIS"
+
+
+          I sing the song of a Fat Man
+              Out on the skirmish line,
+          With a pack chock full of lead and bricks
+            A'hanging on behind.
+
+          Maybe you think it's funny
+            When you're out there on the run,
+          Beside all that equipment
+            To be pullin' half a ton.
+
+          The Captain has a heart of stone
+            It makes no odds to him;
+          He's there to teach you to skirmish,
+            And you'll skirmish fat or thin.
+
+          D'you suppose he gives a tinker's damn
+            If when you're lying prone,
+          The pack comes up behind your ears
+            And whacks you on the dome?
+
+          He just hollers "fire faster,"
+            Though he knows you couldn't hit
+          The broad side of a barn door,
+            If you were fifty feet from it.
+
+          He doesn't care a little bit,
+            If you're gasping hard for breath,
+          He's there to teach you to skirmish,
+            If you skirmish yourself to death.
+
+          Oh, well, it's true about fat men
+            Being always full of fun,
+          Good Lord, they've got to be,
+            'Cause they can neither fight nor run.
+
+[Illustration: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?]
+
+
+
+
+GO!
+
+
+          Your lips say "Go!"
+            Eyes plead "Stay!"
+          Your voice so low
+            Faints away
+              To nothing, dear--
+              God keep me here!
+
+          God end the war,
+            And let us two
+          Travel far
+            On Love's road, you
+              And I in peace,
+              Never to cease.
+
+          Your lips say "Go!"
+            Eyes plead "Stay"--
+          Ah, how I know
+            What price you pay.
+
+
+
+
+THE PLATTSBURG CODE
+
+
+1
+
+          By Lake Champlain, where Bourbon tossed
+            The dice of fortune and romance,
+          Where red-coats won and red-coats lost,
+            We soldiers train to fight in France.
+            Though with no pomp and elegance
+          Of gold-laced beaux, we have their same
+            Old code of pluck and nonchalance--
+          "God give us guts to play the game."
+
+
+2
+
+          May winds that sing like troubadours
+            Of musket, sword and daring deed,
+          And ideals won in early wars,
+            Inspire each warrior to succeed;
+            To fight that nations may be freed,
+          And through all hardships make his aim
+            The punch of old-time heroes' creed--
+          God give us guts to play the game.
+
+
+3
+
+          And if to-morrow--who can tell?--
+            We hike along a hot white French
+          Highway, exposed to shrapnel shell,
+            Or occupy a first-line trench,
+            'Midst poisoned gas and dead men's stench,
+          And hand grenades that burst and maim;
+            May not all hell our spirit quench--
+          God give us guts to play the game.
+
+
+4
+
+          If through entangled wires and mud,
+            Charging the Boche, we madly run,
+          With comrades dropping, dyed with blood,
+            And sickening sights and sounds that stun,
+            And in death's duel meet the Hun
+          'Midst shell holes, smoke, and battle flame,
+            Steel clashing steel and gun to gun--
+          God give us guts to play the game.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A CONFERENCE
+
+
+          I was sleeping in the barracks,
+            A week or so ago.
+          And in the midst of pleasant dreams
+            I heard the whistle blow.
+
+          Lord, how I hate those whistles!
+            Well, it was time to "rouse,"
+          So we marched down 'mongst the thistles
+            Beside the old ice house.
+
+          I looked around in misery,
+            At last I took a seat,
+          With nothing to lean up against
+            And no place for my feet.
+
+          As I sat there in the drizzle
+            Of a good old Plattsburg rain,
+          I wondered if I'd fizzle
+            The lesson once again.
+
+          The captain, who, like Nero
+            Observing Rome in flames,
+          Was seated on a packing-box
+            Perusing all the names.
+
+          "Mr. Whitney, won't you tell us
+            Of patrols both front and rear?
+          Speak up, Mr. Whitney,
+            So the men in back can hear."
+
+          "And please now, Mr. Warnock,
+            Just tell us if you will
+          What you'd do with this problem
+            If you were Sergeant Hill?"
+
+          "No! I'll ask you if I want you;
+            Never mind the hands.
+          Warnock, _you_ are Sergeant Hill,
+            Just call out your commands."
+
+          "Whitney! Warnock! Gee, what luck!"
+            I chortled in my glee.
+          My name is Brown, t'was very plain
+            He'd never get to me.
+
+          So I listened to the questions
+            And the answers one by one,
+          And wondered if that 3rd degree
+            Was ever to be done.
+
+          I thought of cups with handles on,
+            Of napkins and clean hands;
+          I thought of all the pretty girls
+            That live in _Christian_ lands.
+
+          I thought of cakes, and pies, and things,
+            I thought of home in pain,
+          And wondered if I'd ever sleep
+            Till 9 o'clock again.
+
+          I wished I had some lager beer
+            Or a nice silver fizz;
+          When, "Mr. Brown, you tell us
+            What a special order is."
+
+          I rose, saluted, brushed my pants
+            Then mutely gazed around.
+          I stood transfixed; the Captain said
+            "_Sit down, Mr. Brown!_"
+
+
+
+
+SUNDAY IN BARRACKS
+
+
+          Little silences
+          Sit in the corners
+          Munching their finger tips.
+          I lie stretched flat upon my bunk....
+          I count the cracks in the pine-boards above me.
+          I am alone.
+          These others who fill the air with talk
+          About right and wrong ... life and death ...
+          With heavy-nailed footsteps
+          And sometimes heavier profanity ...
+          What becomes of them on Sunday?
+          Dinners ... the beauty of women ...
+          Pretty talk.
+          Camaraderie beside the lake ... fellow for fellow,
+          What does it matter?
+          My little silences slide along the floor ...
+          Clamber up my bunk
+          To grin at me in my loneliness.
+          Then I think of the millions
+          Who have none for whom to be lonely,
+          French, English, German, Russ....
+          What does it matter the language?
+          We are all one,
+          Levelled in solitude.
+
+          And I laugh at the silences,
+          And laugh to see them scurrying back to their corners,
+          Gibbering.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY
+
+
+I
+
+          Since we came to Plattsburg Training Camp
+          Upon the 12th of May,
+          A lot of clever candidates
+          Have fallen by the way;
+          But the strangest fall among them all
+          Was Montmorency Gray.
+
+
+II
+
+          Monty was a clever lad,
+          As bright as bright could be;
+          He came up days ahead of time--
+          Ahead of you and me--
+          And got in strong right from the start.
+          O a clever lad was he!
+
+
+III
+
+          For Monty was an Officer
+          Of Uncle Sam's Reserve;
+          His uniform was spic and span
+          In every line and curve;
+          And what he lacked in other things,
+          He made up for in nerve.
+
+
+IV
+
+          He learned the I.D.R. by heart
+          Before the 1st of June;
+          He used to study late at night,
+          And in the morning soon;
+          No wonder that the Captain let him
+          Lead the 1st Platoon.
+
+
+V
+
+          He asked the cutest questions
+          In the study hall at night;
+          He knew the difference between
+          A Cut and Fill at sight.
+          And when it said: "What do you do?"
+          He always did just right.
+
+
+VI
+
+          He memorized the map from
+          Chestnut Hill to Steven's Run;
+          He didn't have to draw a scale,
+          As we have always done;
+          He _knew_ that you could see Five-Six--
+          Ty-Six from Six-O-One.
+
+
+VII
+
+          And then this tragic episode
+          Of which I write occurred.
+          It happened sometime in the night
+          Of June the 23rd
+          That Montmorency stole away,
+          And left no sign or word.
+
+
+VIII
+
+          We found at dawn that he had gone
+          And left us in the lurch.
+          The Colonel sent detachments out
+          For miles around to search;
+          A strong patrol to every knoll,
+          To every house, and church.
+
+
+IX
+
+          They found no trace in any place;
+          It caused a lot of talk;
+          They wired down to every town
+          From Plattsburg to New York.
+          As it was plain he took no train
+          He must have had to walk.
+
+
+X
+
+          'Twas well into the Fall before
+          The mystery was cleared.
+          (They'd never heard a single word
+          Since Monty disappeared),
+          When the Colonel had a caller,
+          An old farmer, with a beard.
+
+
+XI
+
+          He said his name was Topper,
+          And he lived in Table Rock,
+          And what he told the Colonel
+          Gave the Old Man quite a shock;
+          They were closeted together
+          Until after ten o'clock.
+
+
+XII
+
+          From Gettysburg to Plattsburg
+          Mr. Topper came to say
+          How he'd found a man in uniform
+          Down near his home one day,
+          Who, judging from his clothing, must
+          Have walked a long, long way.
+
+
+XIII
+
+          He told the sad and tragic tale
+          Of how he came to find,
+          While on his way to Hershey's Mill
+          With a load of corn to grind,
+          The young man wandering on a hill,
+          And wandering in his mind.
+
+
+XIV
+
+          He took him to his farmhouse, where
+          For seven weeks he lay
+          And talked and muttered to himself
+          In a most peculiar way.
+          He gave his name before he died
+          As Montmorency Gray.
+
+
+XV
+
+          He seemed more sick than lunatic,
+          Mr. Topper had to grant;
+          As meek and mild as a little child,
+          He did not rave or rant,
+          He only cried, until he died:
+          "You ought to, _but you can't_!"
+
+[Illustration: ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW]
+
+
+
+
+GIRLS
+
+
+          They wander everywhere about
+          The dears in pink, the dreams in yellow,
+          With fetching smile, with pretty pout,
+          And always with another fellow.
+
+          They spend their mornings baking cakes,
+          Their afternoons in making cookies;
+          And, oh! the soul within me aches--
+          Their sweets are all for other rookies.
+
+          Often, when 'neath their eyes we pass,
+          I hear some maiden sigh divinely,
+          And murmur to another lass,
+          "Dear, isn't _Jackie_ marching finely?"
+
+          Ah, girls, a sorry lot is his--
+          Dull are his days, his nights are dreary--
+          Who knows no maiden where he is,
+          Who has no dame to call him "Dearie."
+
+
+
+
+A LAMENT
+
+(AFTER C. LAMB)
+
+
+          All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses
+          That used to range along the fragrant bar;
+          Gone, all are gone, and in their places
+          Milk, Pop and Dietade its beauty mar.
+          The Big Four now has turned to Prohibition,
+          Anhaeuser Busch no longer sells at par,
+          Bar-maids have joined the Army of Salvation,
+          The voice of Bryan governs from afar;
+          All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses,
+          Where once they glistened on the fragrant bar.
+
+
+
+
+THE MANUAL
+
+
+          Did you ever run into the butt of your gun,
+          Or dig the front sight with your nose?
+          Did your stomach turn over and stand up on end,
+          When you dropped the damn thing on your toes?
+
+          When coming to Port did the rifle fall short,
+          And the swivel ram into your fist?
+          When the rest did present did you so intent
+          Find a count that the others had missed?
+
+          And when at "Inspection" you clutched to perfection,
+          Then shot up the piece with a thrust,
+          Was there some dirty pup who pushed your cut-off up
+          So your bolt dug a cave in the dust?
+
+          Then when on the range your windage you'd change
+          For the flag that the Anarchists wave,
+          And the old cocking piece smeared your nose with red "grease,"
+          Did you learn what it meant to be brave?
+
+          How your old back did ache when you got the bad breaks
+          With the rifle that now has such charms,
+          And I'll make a good bet that you'll never forget
+          That exhausting old Manual of Arms.
+
+
+
+
+THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS
+
+
+I
+
+          To put the pay in patriot
+          Is the order of the day.
+          And some delight to sing of fight
+          For royalties that pay.
+          The louder that the eagle screams
+          The more the dollars shout,
+          And, if you please, atrocities
+          Like this are handed out:--
+
+          (Chorus)
+
+          I love you, dear America,
+          I love the starry flag,
+          We're proud to fight for you-oo-oo;
+          We never boast or brag.
+          We always will remember you,
+          We always will be true;
+          Maryland, my Maryland! hurrah, boys, hurrah!
+          As we go marching on to victory.
+
+
+II
+
+          That some are actuated
+          By intentions of the best,
+          Is surely clear, and so we fear
+          To class them with the rest.
+          And yet conceive some long-haired chap,
+          Or sentimental miss,
+          Who takes the time to fit a rhyme
+          To music, say, like this:--
+
+          (Chorus)
+
+          I love you, yes, I love you,
+          And when I'm across the sea,
+          I'll take your picture to the front,
+          'Twill always be with me.
+          I shall not mind the bullets
+          When I am far away,
+          You'll be a soldier's sweetheart,
+          My girl in U. S. A.
+
+
+III
+
+          To make the war more horrible
+          Some chap will surely try
+          To set to rag the starry flag,
+          And dance the battle cry.
+          We only hope we may be spared;
+          It did not fail to come,
+          A dashing trot of shell and shot,
+          Of bugle call and drum.
+
+          (Chorus)
+
+          That khaki glide! O! that army slide,
+          It seems to say:
+          "March away, march away!"
+          I feel so queer each time I hear
+          The music of that military band.
+          It's just too grand!
+          Fills me full of joy and pride,
+          See them marching side by side,
+          That's just the good old khaki glide!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+SATURDAY P.M.
+
+
+I
+
+          When you've had a shave and a shower,
+          And have picked up all the news;
+          When you've donned your Sunday Stetson
+          And your shiny pair of shoes;
+          When your work for the week is over,
+          You think that you are through.
+          You're wrong, my son, you're wrong, my son
+          There's something more for you.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle,
+            The prophylactic needle.
+            There's a hungry surgeon waiting
+            And he's waiting just for you.
+
+
+II
+
+          Tho' you lasted through the horrors
+          Of a test in skirmish drill,
+          And proved yourself a captain
+          When you bellowed "Fire at will!"
+          You are very much mistaken
+          If you think you've finished then;
+          There is something after luncheon
+          For all the Plattsburg men.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle, etc.
+
+
+III
+
+          Tho' you stood a strict inspection
+          And your dirty gun got by;
+          Tho' you'd grease spots on your breeches,
+          And the Captain winked his eye;
+          Tho' you ate your fill at dinner,
+          And enjoyed a Lucky Strike;
+          There is something at one-thirty
+          That I know you will not like.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle, etc.
+
+
+IV
+
+          Tho' you proved yourself a hero
+          After three hours in the line,
+          And when the doctor jabbed you
+          Just said, "Let's have a shine!"
+          And smoked a large-sized stogie
+          And thought that it was fun,
+          My noble-hearted candidate,
+          You'd only half begun.
+
+            It's the needle, the needle, etc.
+
+
+V
+
+          When you woke up at twelve-thirty
+          In a state of some alarm,
+          To feel a tortured muscle
+          In the region of your arm;
+          When you heard the groaning barracks,
+          You wiped your brow and said:
+          "Two million more next week-end,
+          And I guess that I'll be dead."
+
+            The needle, the needle,
+            The prophylactic needle.
+            You softly damn the surgeon,
+            And his needle tinged with red.
+
+
+
+
+HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED
+
+
+          When first I landed in this camp
+          I used to write most every day
+          To all my friends I left behind,
+          And ask them what they had to say
+          About the old town and the girls,
+          Or what they thought about the war;
+          And in return the daily mail
+          It brought me letters by the score.
+
+          But now my friends write me and ask
+          What keeps me from replying,
+          And when I answer, "It's the work,"
+          Why, they just think I'm lying.
+          So now the letters I receive
+          Are few and very far between;
+          They're mostly from my family
+          And never any from a queen.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ARMA FEMINAMQUE
+
+
+          No man would doubt a woman's nerve,
+          We know you're brave enough;
+          You put a man to shame at times,
+          You're tender--and you're tough.
+          And yet I feel, with all your grit
+          And talk of cave-men stuff,
+            That you're sorter out of place
+          When I'm twistin' up my face,
+            A-thrustin' and a-jabbin' with my gun-knife.
+
+          There's some things in this queer old world
+          That's awkward things to see,
+          They can't be tied with ribbon
+          And they can't be served with tea.
+          They're not the least bit sociable
+          And women--as for me,
+            I wish you'd stay away,
+            While I'm training for the day
+            That I'm goin' to get in action with a gun-knife.
+
+          This ain't no country club affair
+          Of smiles and clever skill;
+          There ain't no silver cups around
+          When doughboys train to kill.
+          It's you or me--and do it quick,
+          A simple murder drill.
+            So I want no women 'round,
+            When I'm tearin' up the ground,
+            A shadow-pointin' Boches with my gun-knife.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+OUT O' LUCK
+
+
+    If, in spite of hopes and promises, your pay day doesn't come,
+  If the sergeant antedates the call, or Friday's fish is bum,
+    Or the waiter empties soup on you--don't let 'em see you glum.
+  You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.
+
+    If you must deploy your skirmish line with nothing in your dome,
+  Or send supporting picket-lines to countermarch the Somme,
+    The chances are you've guessed it wrong and "may as well go home."
+  You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.
+
+    If you drop between the battle-lines and no one finds the place,
+  Or jump into a pit and drive a bay'nit through your face,
+    Or try to stop a ten-inch shell and leave an empty space.
+  You're out o' luck, that's all. You're out o' luck.
+
+[Illustration: S.O.S.]
+
+
+
+
+SHERMAN WAS RIGHT
+
+
+          You may talk about your marching
+          And your stiff, close-order drill;
+          You may cuss out recitations,
+          And of skirmish have your fill;
+          The difficult manoeuvers
+          Which you do most every day
+          May get your goat like everything,
+          And spoil your Plattsburg stay.
+          But for me it's far, far harder
+          Makes me feel more like a prune,
+          To march at strict attention
+          Past the Hostess House at noon.
+
+
+
+
+TROOPSHIP CHANTY
+
+
+          The sea is green as green-pea soup
+          And half-way down the green-o,
+          A U-boat's lying snug and tight
+          All bellied out with dynamite,
+          And twenty guns between-o!
+          And twenty guns between-o!
+
+          So scrape yer hatchways clear of brine,
+          And bawl yer jolly song-o.
+          For if she "blows," my lads, why, then
+          We'll blow her back to Hell again,
+          With compliments along-o!
+          With compliments along-o!
+
+
+
+
+THOSE RUMORS
+
+
+                  He sauntered in
+              With a knowing grin,
+          The news he'd been to hear;
+              We knew right well
+              He'd come to tell
+          The latest from the rear.
+              "A hundred went," he said, "to-day,
+              "Five hundred more must go they say;
+              "Looks bad, Bill, guess you're on your way;
+              "Darn few of us can hope to stay.
+              "I got this straight from a friend of mine,
+              "A friend of his in Company 9,
+              "Heard from a friend in Company 10,
+              "That Company 5 lost fifty men."
+          With this you'd think
+          Our hopes would sink,
+          It ought to change our humor.
+              We knew the source,
+              So smiled of course,
+          It was an L. T. rumor.
+
+
+
+
+WAR'S HORRORS
+
+
+          I hate to talk of a Regular
+            Without the proper respect;
+          But given a chance to criticize,
+            There's a bunch that I'd select.
+          And they are those musical miscreants,
+            Those malefactors of noise,
+          Those rookie Second Cavalrymen,
+            The amateur bugle boys.
+
+          They blow retreat,
+            And from head to feet
+          Coagulate your spine;
+            Or at company drill
+          They send a chill
+            A-shivering down the line.
+          Just try to salute
+            To their twittering toot,
+          Their yodeling, rasping groan,
+            Their blithering bleat,
+          And you'll swear that they beat
+            The Hindu quarter-tone,
+                By Gad!
+          The Hindu quarter-tone.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALL
+
+
+          Spring to arms, ye sons of freedom,
+            Lift your country's ensign high;
+          Join her undefeated Army,
+            Succor France, her old ally.
+          Stand for freedom, truth and justice,
+            Crush the Prussian tyrant's power;
+          Emulate your worthy forebears
+            In their Homeland's crucial hour.
+          Britain, mother of your nation;
+            France, her hope in ages past;
+          Belgium, home of peaceful people,
+            Seared by foul oppression's blast;
+          Russia, newly born to freedom;
+            Seeking honor, God and right,
+          Call on you to aid in crushing,
+            Prussianism's cursed blight.
+          Are ye men? Then meet the challenge
+            As your fathers did of old;
+          Help the cause of all the races,
+            With your muscle, brain, and gold.
+
+[Illustration: On the firing Line "A Miss At 5 O'clock"]
+
+
+
+
+BEANS
+
+
+          Consider then the Army bean
+            So various and quaint.
+          Sometimes we find they're just plain beans,
+            And then again they ain't.
+          They're funny shades of yellow,
+            Brown, green, and red, and white;
+          While striped and spotted, polka dotted
+            Beans our taste delight.
+          But nix on beans Manchurian,
+            And beans of age Silurian,
+          Which same could stand a buryin',
+            When they come on--Good Night!
+
+
+
+
+FORWARD "?"
+
+
+              On the parade,
+                Soft and low,
+              Rookie hiccoughed,
+                "Forward, Ho!"
+
+              Another youngster
+                Feeling smart,
+              Tried to shout,
+                "Forward, Hart!"
+
+              One requested,
+                "Forward, How!"
+              From somewhere else,
+                There came a "Yow!"
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+          Perhaps a mile or so away
+            We heard not "Harp!" nor "Harch!"
+          But stalwart Major Koehler's voice
+            Thunder, "Forward, March!"
+
+
+
+
+CHANT OF A DERELICT
+
+
+          Sad is my song, mates, for I've got the axe,
+            I've got to go, I've got to go;
+          Farewell to Plattsburg and life in the shacks,
+            Home I must go, I must go.
+          Told not to let such a small matter grieve me,
+            Sent to the parents who hate to receive me,
+          Hearing my story, they'll never believe me,
+            I've got to go, got to go.
+
+          No more to sleep in a two-story bunk,
+            Back I must go, I must go;
+          No more to sag 'neath a pack full of junk,
+            Home I must go, I must go.
+          Leaving the books I could never have learned,
+            Buying a straw hat--the old one was burned--
+          Even the wrist watch must now be interned,
+            Back I must go, I must go.
+
+          Here is the moral of this plaintive cough,
+            Sung as I go, moaned as I go;
+          Here is the reason for my sounding off,
+            Now as I go, as I go:
+          Comrades in arms, oh! be prompt at formations,
+            Neat in your dress, and observe regulations,
+          Else, you, like me, will rejoin your relations,
+            Home you must go, you must go.
+
+[Illustration: MESS? YES!!]
+
+
+
+
+PREOCCUPATION
+
+
+          The captain stops and yells to me,
+            "Wake up there, rear rank number three!"
+          And then, perchance, he makes some mention
+            Of how I do not pay attention.
+          But is it _my_ fault? No, it's you,
+            With your persistent eyes of blue,
+          That halt the flow of reason's stream
+            And make me dream and dream and dream,
+          Until the captain comes and--well,
+            To put it plain--he gives me _Hell_.
+
+
+
+
+INOCULATION DAY
+
+
+          My blood the surgeons fortify
+            With antiseptic serum;
+          The dread bacilli I defy,
+            What cause have I to fear 'em?
+
+          We form outside the pest-house door
+            At one o'clock precisely,
+          But if we get our dose at four
+            We think we're doing nicely.
+
+          And in our arm the surgeon stabs
+            A hypodermic squirter,
+          E'en as the hungry hobo jabs
+            His fork in a frankfurter.
+
+          I'm full of dope for smallpox germs,
+            For typhus and such evils,
+          For broken heart and army worms,
+            For chestnut blight and weevils.
+
+          I'm doped against the bayonet
+            Wielded by German demons;
+          But no one seems to think I'll get
+            Dear old delirium tremens.
+
+
+
+
+DON'T WEAKEN
+
+
+  When you feel on the bum and the outlook is glum,
+  And you're wonderin' what's comin' next;
+  When most every thing's drear and life loses its cheer,
+  And the Skip and Reverses are vexed;
+  If this Plattsburgish heat knocks you clean off your feet,
+  Or your bunkies they ain't even speakin';
+  Keep your shirt on your back, don't knock over the stack,
+  It's a great life, if you don't weaken.
+
+  When they launder your sock till it ain't fit to hock,
+  When they shrink up your shirt like a rag;
+  If you blister your toes and then sunburn your nose
+  And then can't even go on a jag;
+  Why, you're sure out of luck, but just pass the old buck,
+  Keep a stiff upper lip like a deacon;
+  Though you shoot ten straight blanks do not kick with the cranks,
+  Summon a grin and don't weaken.
+
+  If you're late for retreat and must police the street,
+  If at reveille you're still in your bed;
+  If your girl sends you flags which some other cuss bags,
+  Or they clip all the hair off your head;
+  If the mess comes out burned,
+  So your stomach gets turned,
+  Or the "upper man" keeps you from sleepin';
+  Don't you growl, that won't help,
+  For they'll dub you a whelp;
+  Can the grouch--but don't weaken.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE
+
+
+          Three dead men rose on nimble toes
+          Above the frozen clay;
+          And as they sped, each of the Dead
+          Told how he died that day.
+
+          Said one, "I sent the Regiment
+          To safety as I fell."
+          The Second cried, "Before I died
+          I hurled the foe to Hell."
+
+          As for the Third, he spoke no word
+          But hastened on his way,
+          Until at last a whisper passed:
+          "How did _you_ die today?"
+
+          "There was a maid slept unafraid
+          Within a hut," he said.
+          "I searched the place and for a space
+          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 lust 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 chores.
+          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 God we be as game!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+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 compass 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 shell,
+            And almost catch a glimpse of hell;
+          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 passed,
+            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
+          Crashing 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, God 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.
+
+
+
+
+RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE
+
+
+            Awake! 'tis morning, though it should not be--
+          Come, can the yawns, it's speed they want to see--
+            And stagger forth upon a hostile world,
+          In flannel shirt and cotton pants O. D.
+
+            Before the phantoms of the night were done,
+          Methought I idled somewhere in the sun,
+            Debating whether beauty to pursue,
+          Or touch a bell, and cultivate a bun.
+
+            And lovely maids in garments pale did seem
+          To shimmer round me in continuous stream,
+            Each with a glass of something in her hand,
+          And then I turned--and lo! it was a dream!
+
+            And ere the cock crew he that stood before
+          The barracks, shouted "Half a minute more!
+            Belts, bayonets, and pieces--on the jump--
+          And signal-flags and alidades," O Lor'!
+
+            I sometimes think that never battles din
+          Were so unwelcome as the words "Fall in!"
+            Nor any victory could taste so sweet
+          As French vermouth with ice and Gordon gin.
+
+            Yesterday's problem 'twixt the Red and Blue
+          Involved our journey down the Road Peru;
+            The day before we took the Peru Road--
+          I'll bet a hat we're there to-morrow, too.
+
+            Myself when fresh and full of zeal and spunk,
+          Hung on the words whence wisdom should be drunk;
+            But this was all the harvest that I reaped--
+          To say "as fast as possible" is punk.
+
+            Platoon commanders, captains by the score,
+          Each takes his turn--and then is seen no more;
+            But no one ever thinks of him again
+          One half so kindly as they thought before.
+
+            To-day's commander, with commands profuse,
+          To-morrow to the rear rank will reduce.
+            Think, and you know not what he meant to say--
+          He knows not neither, so--ah, what's the use?
+
+            Waste not your hour to criticize or blame,
+          You would have done it worse, or just the same.
+            Better to pack your troubles with your kit,
+          To keep your shirt on, and to play the game.
+
+            Some for the shriek of shot and shell, and some
+          Sigh for the bottle of New England rum.
+            Oh, face the facts, and let the fiction go--
+          I'll bet "_la vie des tranchees_" will be bum.
+
+            One moment's rest, then back into the mill
+          With butt and point to lacerate and kill.
+            I often wonder what the Germans teach
+          One half so cultured as our "Bay'net Drill."
+
+            For war is hell, and Plattsburg not a jest,
+          And yet, by gravy, we will do our best,
+            Till submarine and Kaiser are forgot,
+          Or Angel Gabriel hollers out, "At rest!"
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS
+
+
+          Says Captain Peek to Company Two,
+          "Let's have an exam to-day;
+          "So get your rifles and bayonet, boys,
+          "And fall in right away.
+
+          "Line up whenever you're ready to go;
+          "At route step do squads right:
+          "Light up your pipes, roll up your sleeves,
+          "We'll try to make this light."
+
+          With joyful faces they march to parade,
+          Fall out and rest on the grass.
+          "Will someone please perform right face?
+          "We'll let slight errors pass."
+
+          Then Captain Peek shuts up that book
+          "I won't give one black mark.
+          "Officers, beat it; get the hook!
+          "I'll drill you right till dark.
+
+          "You seem to know the drill all right;
+          "Don't bother about those maps;
+          "Put on your 'civies' as fast as you can,
+          "And don't come back for taps."
+
+          'Twill be thus perhaps in a happier land,
+          When they've run that American drive,
+          Where we drill in white all armed with harps;
+          But not while our Cap's alive.
+
+
+
+
+A 2nd REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO"
+
+
+          Major Collins is careful of
+          His regiment's health.
+          Lemonade and other things,
+          Taken on march,
+          Have been known to cause
+          Soldiers to die, and pie?
+          Perish the suggestion! 'Tis
+          Safe to bet the major
+          Was not born in New England.
+
+          If in a deep wood or desert vast
+          One would never be lost
+          With Captain Barnes. He knows
+          How to orient the landscape
+          By sun or star.
+
+          Lieutenant Meyer is tall,
+          He holds his hat on
+          By a strap
+          Under his chin.
+          A cyclone couldn't blow it off.
+
+          Captain Latrobe came on
+          From Texas way,
+          "Sif bofe" his saddle
+          And himself. He might as well
+          Have saved the freight on the saddle,
+          For he has no horse to ride on.
+          He leads his steedless troop
+          On charger invisible.
+
+          Arnold, Major now, fares better.
+          His horse is real
+          And has white feet.
+          Do not talk to his
+          Command while it is marching,
+          Nor count for the men, or
+          The winning smile will
+          Turn into a volcano,
+          And you will be reduced to
+          A shapeless mass. Beware!
+
+          Carr's horse is black,
+          And a beauty, too,
+          But neighs out loud; hence
+          Never should be used to patrol.
+          The enemy would listen, and
+          Know you were near.
+
+          The straightest man
+          On horseback is,
+          Doubtless, Wainwright;
+          And he doesn't lean backward to do it, either.
+
+          Matthews has a deep voice;
+          No ear trumpet is needed to hear his commands.
+          He believes in exercise.
+          His men should be able to
+          Throw Samson or Sandow,
+          If they are not dead
+          By August Eleventh.
+
+          Waldron knows how to patrol--
+          At least he wrote a book
+          For thirty cents.
+          He next should write a book on how
+          To spot a periscope when we cross the sea.
+          If we don't know that, we'll never
+          Spot anything else
+          But bubbles on the ocean's face.
+
+          Capt. Goodwyn just came up
+          From Panama, and brought
+          Chivalry with him.
+          It's as hot here as there,
+          But he is showing us how
+          To make it hotter
+          For certain people
+          To the eastward.
+
+          There is a fat Q.M.,
+          Whose name is
+          Unknown, but not his form.
+          Once seen
+          Never forgotten;
+          He must have
+          The keys to the ice-box.
+
+
+
+
+EUREKA
+
+
+          It may be from hot Tallahassee,
+            It may be from cold northern Nome,
+          But there's nothing that can be compared with
+            That BIG little letter from home.
+
+
+
+
+FOURTH COMPANY, N.E. SONG
+
+
+    'Way up in Plattsburg, right near the northern border,
+    They sent us off in May,
+    There for three months to stay,
+    So we could all become lieutenants.
+    Then when they put us all in comp'nies
+    We made New England Four.
+    It's the finest little company
+    That ever did Squads Right and ran into a tree.
+    New England, you've got to hand it to us--
+    Good old Company Four!
+
+    'Way up in Plattsburg--that's where they make us soldiers--
+    They drill us every day.
+    Damn little time for play,
+    'Cause when we do not drill we study.
+    New England number four's our comp'ny,
+    We're always full of pep.
+    Now if you want some men for good, hard work
+    You'll always find this company will never shirk.
+    New England, you've got to hand it to us--
+    Good old Company Four!
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+SONGS AND PARODIES
+
+
+
+
+LONG, LONG TRAIL
+
+(_Air: There's a Long Trail_)
+
+
+          There's a long, long trail before us,
+            Into No-Man's land in France,
+          Where the shrapnel shells are bursting,
+            And we must advance.
+
+          There'll be lots of drill and hiking,
+            Before our dreams all come true,
+          But some day we'll show the Germans,
+            How the Yankees come through.
+
+
+
+
+WILLIE'S PA
+
+(_Air: Solomon Levi_)
+
+
+I
+
+  O, Willie Jones's fond mamma brought him to Plattsburg town,
+  To see his father at the Camp go marching up and down;
+  And Willie grew excited as the band began to play,
+  And when he saw his papa march, the people heard him say:
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  "O, look at him, Ma-ma, ain't he simply grand?
+  See the way he holds his gun and swings his other hand.
+  The Captain's walking up in front, and now he's calling 'hep,'
+  And everyone but my papa is marching out of step."
+
+
+II
+
+  O, Willie Jones, he loved to see the soldiers marching by,
+  He went down to the target range to see the bullets fly,
+  And every time they made a shot, he cried "Ain't that a beaut!"
+  And clapped his hands in glee to see his papa start to shoot.
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  "O, look at him, Ma-ma, see him hold his gun,
+  And every time he shoots it off it hits him on the bun.
+  He puts his hand around the thing and gives an awful pull,
+  The red flag there is waving, O! it must have been a bull."
+
+
+
+
+COMPANY 2 NEW ENGLAND
+
+(_Air: "Lord Geoffry Amherst"_)
+
+
+  Oh, good old Uncle Sam declared a war on Kaiser Bill,
+  When, his pledges "Bill" neglected to fulfill;
+  And the War Department ordered that a training camp should be,
+  So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?
+  So they sent us up to Plattsburg, don't you see?
+  And the men from all New England came along and gathered there,
+  And the companies they chose with greatest care.
+  But out of all the candidates selected but a few
+  To organize New England Number 2.
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  Oh, Captain Peek and Company Two
+  They'll be names known to fame the whole world o'er.
+  They will ever be glorious
+  When the Hohenzollerns reign no more.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE RESERVE CAVALRY
+
+(_Air: The Infantry, the Infantry, with Dirt Behind Their Ears_)
+
+
+I
+
+  The Cavalry, the Cavalry, they haven't any horse,
+  They're taking riding lessons by a correspondence course,
+  You'd think they were equestrians to hear the way they talk,
+  But when it comes to riding, why! We always see them walk.
+
+
+II
+
+  The Cavalry, the Cavalry, are marching down the street,
+  The Cavalry, the Cavalry, with blisters on their feet,
+  The Artillery is mounted now and ready for the course;
+  But we never see the Cavalry with any kind of horse.
+
+
+
+
+WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO DEUTSCHLAND
+
+(_Air: Hit the Line for Harvard_)
+
+
+          We're on our way to Deutschland,
+          We're Yankees through and through,
+          And we'll show the Huns of Germ'ny
+          What the U. S. A. can do.
+          With France and Old England,
+          Victory or die;
+          And we'll give a rousing cheer, boys,
+          As the allied flags go by.
+
+
+
+
+I WANT TO BE A COLONEL
+
+(_Air: I Want to Be Back Home in Dixie_)
+
+
+  I want to be, I want to be, I want to be at least a Colonel,
+  Have the Majors handing me salutes, and a man to black my boots.
+  I want to be, I want to be, at least a Colonel, C-O-L-O-N-E-L,
+  Hold down a desk and give the captains Hell.
+  I want to be, I want to be, I want to be a Colonel _now_!
+
+
+
+
+I WANT TO BE A DOUGHBOY
+
+(_Air: I Want to Be a Yale Boy_)
+
+
+          I want to be a doughboy,
+          Doughboy tried and true;
+          I want to be a doughboy,
+          With a hat cord of baby blue.
+          I want to be a doughboy,
+          Do as the doughboys do;
+          So, papa, if I can
+          When I get to be a man,
+          I want to be a doughboy, too.
+
+
+
+
+OUR BATTLE HYMN
+
+(Air: "Battle Hymn of the Republic")
+
+
+I
+
+  We have heard a lot about a place they call "Somewhere in France,"
+  And we're going "Over There" to put some pep in the advance;
+  "There's a long, long trail before us," but you bet we'll take the
+      chance,
+  As Five goes marching on.
+
+  (Chorus)
+
+  Glory, glory, for we're going to beat the Hun,
+  Old Hindenburg will execute a new strategic run,
+  And Kaiser Bill will find he has no place beneath the sun,
+  When Five goes marching on.
+
+
+II
+
+  We are handy with the rifle and the bayonet and such;
+  And though Fritz is used to running and is sort of hard to touch,
+  We will show him when we get there that it doesn't matter much,
+  When Five is marching on.
+
+(Chorus)
+
+
+III
+
+  You may say that we're not modest, but our faults we will confess,
+  We hate to rise at Reveille, we're not too fond of mess;
+  And we never, never, never get a good line at Right Dress,
+  But we do keep marching on.
+
+(Chorus)
+
+
+IV
+
+  Now all you other fellows who are going overseas,
+  Just remember that we guarantee the foeman to appease;
+  So when you hear we're coming you may rest or stand at ease,
+  When Five goes marching on.
+
+(Chorus)
+
+
+
+
+NEW ENGLAND WILL BE LEADING
+
+(_Air: John Brown's Body_)
+
+
+  New England will be leading when we're marching up the Rhine,
+  New York will be the rear guard and we'll leave them far behind,
+  We'll conquer German cities and we'll capture Kaiser Bill,
+  As we go marching on.
+  Glory, glory to New England!
+  Glory, glory to New England!
+  Glory, glory to New England!
+  As we go marching on.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE
+
+(_Air: "Through Those Wonderful Glasses of Mine"_)
+
+
+  Germany, we're coming over, we are going straight to France;
+    We are praying for a chance,
+    Just to make your soldiers dance.
+  Kaiser Bill, your doom is coming; take a tip, old top, RESIGN!
+    For we'll drink beer in June,
+    By the light of the moon,
+  On the banks of the River Rhine.
+
+
+
+
+"THE SIMULATING OF THE GREEN"
+
+(_Air: "Wearing of the Green"_)
+
+
+  Oh, Major dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?
+  We Cavalry must simulate till horses can be found;
+  We gallop and we single-foot as handsome as can be,
+  But on our own two feet we ride--a horse you'll never see.
+  'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green;
+  A hundred men a-riding where no horses can be seen.
+
+  Oh, Colonel dear, ye'll grieve to hear Artillery's the same,
+  Compared to simulating guns, a horse is rather tame;
+  Last night I was the left rear wheel--it made me moighty sore,
+  But dommed if I will be the swab and crawl inside the bore.
+  'Tis the most amazing spectacle that's ever graced the green,
+  A-firing rounds and salvos where no cannons can be seen.
+
+
+
+
+DON'T SEND ME HOME
+
+(_Air: Don't Take Me Home_)
+
+
+          Don't send me home, please don't send me home.
+          Tell me, where did I make that break?
+          Oh, oh, oh, oh, have a little pity.
+          I'm a poor candidate, in search of war I roam.
+          I'll do anything you want me to, but don't
+          Send me home.
+
+
+
+
+COMPANY NINE
+
+(_Air: "Far Above Cayuga's Water"_)
+
+
+          Hark, ye Rookies, to the chorus
+          Of old Company Nine;
+          Captains, Colonels, all adore us,
+          When we fall in line.
+          Tho' we're doughboys, we're not slow boys,
+          Thanks to Sargeant Hill;
+          And when we take our stand in Deutschland,
+          Lord help Kaiser Bill!
+
+          In the morning at the warning,
+          "Clothes on Company Nine!"
+          Feeling rocky, into khaki
+          Jumps our valiant line.
+          We shun strawberries in the valley
+          Off the Peru road,
+          But in mess shack none can beat us
+          At the order "Load!"
+
+          In Pabst-less Plattsburg, bone-dry rookies,
+          Waiting for our kale,
+          Our healths we drink in foamless bumpers,
+          Full of Adam's ale.
+          But when the "Sammies" take their Muenchener
+          On the river Rhine,
+          The toast will be to old New England
+          And to Company Nine.
+
+
+
+
+WE'RE ON OUR WAY TO EUROPE
+
+(_Air: "My Wife's Away in Europe"_)
+
+
+          We're on our way to Europe,
+          And we won't come back.
+          And we won't come back.
+          We're going to shoot an awful pill
+          Into the hide of Kaiser Bill.
+          Von Hindenburg can't stop us;
+          We laugh at him, hee! hee!
+          We've shot the pistol twice before,
+          Can't hit the side of a barn door.
+          We're on our way to Europe
+          To lay Bill cross our knee.
+
+
+
+
+COMPANY 5 SONG
+
+(_Original Music by Mr. H. T. Morgan_)
+
+
+1
+
+          On guard! We're always on our toes;
+          Plattsburg has taught us pep.
+          We're good at being Red or Blue,
+          But oh, that step!
+          Though we may lose a few patrols,
+          Just watch the Allied drive.
+          Right where they reach the Rhine, there
+          You'll find New England Five.
+
+
+2
+
+          Forward! We're on our way to France;
+          We'll make it hot for Fritz.
+          With bayonet or rifle,
+          Watch us score all hits.
+          Heads up! We're after Hindenburg,
+          We'll show him we're alive;
+          When we get through with him, he
+          Will know New England Five.
+
+
+
+
+DOUBLE TIME
+
+(_Air: Tammany_)
+
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          We're the boys with running feet,
+          And we never mind the heat.
+          Double time, double time!
+          Battr'y three, you always see at
+                Double time.
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          On the run we always keep,
+          We even do it in our sleep.
+          Double time, double time!
+          When we eat our food goes down at
+                Double time.
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          Always jump and run like Hell,
+          Faster than a British shell.
+          Double time, double time!
+          Boche can't hit us, for we move at
+                Double time.
+
+          Double time, double time!
+          It's the surest road to fame,
+          If you live and don't get lame.
+          Double time, double time!
+          Hammond's favorite outdoor sport is
+                Double time.
+
+
+
+
+THE 8TH NEW ENGLAND
+
+(_Air: Michael Roy_)
+
+
+  The Eighth New England Infantry is the one that shows them how;
+  If Kaiser Bill could see us drill, the war would be over now.
+  Out in front of the Hostess House, as we go marching by
+  Where the ladies are sitting, they drop their knitting, and all begin
+          to cry:
+    "For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!
+    It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."
+
+  If Elihu Root could see us shoot out on the rifle range
+  He'd send us to Russia to help lick Prussia--oh, what a glorious change!
+  If General Pershing could hear us cursing the whistle that blows too
+        soon,
+  There'd be a decree that reveille would come in the afternoon.
+    "For oh! For oh! What a wonderful company!
+    It must be either the General Staff or Company 8 N. E."
+
+
+
+
+MARCHING ON THE RHINE
+
+(_Air: Rocky Road to Dublin_)
+
+
+          When marching on the Rhine, boys,
+          We'll be singing this song
+          As we're marching along.
+          When marching on the Rhine, boys,
+          On our hunt for Kaiser Bill,
+          We'll shoot the Germans out of France,
+          We'll keep them on the run;
+          When we get there the world will know,
+          New England has begun,
+          To fight for Uncle Sammy.
+          We'll do our best,
+          And never will rest,
+          Until Old Glory rises to the sun.
+          Over the sea, boys,
+          Over the sea to Victory,
+          New England will fight on forever.
+
+
+
+
+EGGS--AGERATED
+
+
+          Since I've come to Plattsburg
+          I've eaten so many eggs,
+          That feathers now adorn my skin,
+          And spurs are on my legs.
+
+
+
+
+WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE"
+
+
+          A fool there was, and he made his prayer,
+          (Even as you and I)
+          Tho't he would hold down a colonel's chair,
+          So he came up here to do and dare,
+          But the skipper decided he wasn't there,
+          (Even as you and I).
+
+          Oh, the days we waste, and the pay we waste,
+          And the work of our hands and feet
+          Belong to the days we did not know,
+          (And now we know we never could know)
+          Enough to stand still at retreat.
+
+          Oh, the sleep we lost and the weight we lost,
+          And the things we had to eat
+          Can never come back to make us want,
+          (We hope they can't and pray they sha'n't)
+          If they did we'd admit we were beat.
+
+          The fool was stripped to his foolish hide,
+          (Even as you and I)
+          And they wouldn't let him be rear guide,
+          (So some of him lived, but the most of him died)
+          And he stayed a "rookie" just outside
+          (Even as you and I).
+
+
+
+
+_FINIS_
+
+
+  _There's a lot that's pretty funny in the life we lead up here,
+   The problems and the hikin' and the mess;
+     But sometimes when I'm all alone I get a little blue,
+   And that's the way with everyone, I guess._
+
+  _I often sit and wonder what it's really all about,
+     And what the end of all this will be;
+   It seems almost impossible that we will be at war,
+     And see the things a soldier has to see._
+
+  _It's something more than just parade and something more than drill,
+     And something more than hiking in the rain.
+   It means that lots of friends we've made are going over seas,
+     And some of them will not come back again._
+
+  _There's not a single man of us who really wants to fight,
+     And maybe die somewhere in France--but then,
+   It's war, and since it must be done, we'll try to do it right.
+     God willing, we'll acquit ourselves like men._
+
+[Illustration: With the Rookie to the End.]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Table of Contents: The page numbering in the Table of Contents is off by
+one beginning with THE CALL which the Table of Contents indicates should
+be on page 73. It actually begins on the next page. By the end of the
+book the page numbering is off by two. The final poem "Finis" is on page
+138. These numbers have been retained as printed.
+
+Closing quotes were added to both stanzas of the poem "THE 8TH NEW
+ENGLAND" which begins on page 132.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookie Rhymes, by
+The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKIE RHYMES ***
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