November, 1915
Ye strong young men of Huron,
Ye sons of Britons true,
Your fathers fought for freedom,
And now it's up to you;
Your brother's blood is calling,
For you they fought and died,
Brave boys with souls unconquered,
By Huns are crucified.
Ten million Hunnish outlaws,
The Kaiser's tools and slaves,
Have strewn the sea with corpses,
And scarred the earth with graves;
They know no god but mammon;
No law but sword and flame,
They crush the weaker peoples,
With deeds we dare not name.
See Belgium rent and bleeding,
The Kaiser's hellish work,
Armenia vainly pleading
For mercy from the Turk.
The Poles and Serbs are dying
The victims of the Huns,
With anguished voices crying,
"O send us men and guns!"
Think of the Lusitania,
Of martyred Nurse Cavell,
Then say, "Can these be human
Who act like fiends of hell."
The Empire's in the conflict,
And bound to see it through;
Each man the old flag shelters,
Must share the burden too.
Then rise, ye sons of Huron,
All hell has broken loose,
The Kaiser's strafe is on us,
With him we make no truce.
Come, rally to the colors
Till victory is won,
Your King and country need you,
And duty must be done.
CHOOSE YE
In times like these, each heart decrees
A law unto itself;
What shall it be for you and me,
Self sacrifice or pelf?
Which shall we choose, to win or lose?
Our all is in the game:
What shall we give that Truth may live?
How much in Freedom's name?
A hero's heart, an honored name,
Or coward's part, and shirker's shame?
The awful strife, wounds and disease,
Or sordid life of selfish ease?
An open purse, our strength in full,
Or painted horse and party pull?
The trenches' mud, and trusted word,
Or tainted blood, and rusted sword?
Soul unafraid, the prayer of faith,
Or heart dismayed at thought of death?
The noble deed, the unmarked grave,
Or craven greed our lives to save?
Where shall we stand that this fair land
No Kaiser's strafe shall know?
Shall never feel the Prussian heel,
Nor German kultur show?
This we will do, if we are true;
Honor the Empire's call,
Each bear his part with loyal heart,
Lest Britain's flag may fall.
THE SLACKER'S SON
"The teacher says at school, dad, that twenty years ago
The Kaiser tried to rule, dad, and plunged the world in woe.
When Britain needed men, dad, to help to fight the Huns,
Boys dropped the plow and pen, dad, to go and man the guns.
Each man he did his share, dad, the loyal, strong and true;
I wish I had been there, dad, to fight along with you.
I'm glad you met no harm, dad, and wear no wooden peg;
For Bill's dad lost an arm, dad, and Jim's dad lost a leg.
The Kaiser was so strong, dad, that Britain almost lost,
The war was hard and long, dad, and none could count the cost.
Our men were firm and brave, dad, and freely shed their blood,
And many found a grave, dad, beneath the Flanders mud.
You never say a word, dad, about this awful fight;
Where is your trusty sword, dad? let's get it out tonight.
The other fellows brag, dad, of what their dads have done,
And Jim's dad has a flag, dad, he captured from a Hun.
And Mr. Sandy Ross, dad, who works down at the mill,
Has a Victoria Cross, dad, for fighting Kaiser Bill;
And little Tommy Dagg, dad, the youngest of your clerks,
Says his dad was at Bagdad, and shot a hundred Turks.
When we go for a walk, dad, or take our flying car,
You never want to talk, dad, about the mighty war;
Please talk to me tonight, dad, before I go to bed,
Of when you went to fight, dad."
But dad hung down his head.
BLASTED HOPES
We hoped to end our troubled days
Far from the maddening strife,
Erstwhile to chortle roundelays
Of peaceful country life;
But now the phone rings night and morn,
The trolleys crash and bang;
We hear the fearsome auto horn
Where once the thrushes sang.
We hoped the children that we raised,
Those stalwart girls and boys;
Would follow in the trail we blazed
That selfish ease destroys;
But now, when men are needed so
To fight the mailed fist,
Our girls won't let their husbands go,
Nor will our sons enlist.
We hoped the pirates all were dead,
Those horrid buccaneers,
Who dyed the ocean's waves with red,
In wicked bygone years:
But now we mourn, as happy days,
That sanguinary past,
Since Kaiser Bill a hundred ways,
Has Captain Kidd outclassed.
We hoped that kings had wiser grown
Since Charles I. lost his head,
And Bonaparte was overthrown,
For painting Europe red;
But now we have the greatest kill
Since cave men fought with stones.
Behold the Kaiser's butcher bill!
Ten million dead men's bones.