FAITH AND DOUBT IN THE FATHERLAND.
News of triumph, very cheering,
Fills our marrows full of sap,
News of FALKENHAYN careering
Right across Roumania's map,
Tales of corn to swell our tummies, tales of golden oil to tap.
Everywhere we go victorious
Over earth and on the blue;
More and more superbly glorious
Ring the deeds we dare and do,
Till they sound almost too splendid to be absolutely true.
Here and there, indeed, a sceptic
Mutters language rather rude;
Here and there a wan dyspeptic,
Yielding to a peevish mood,
Wonders why a winning nation finds itself so short of food.
When carillons rock the steeple
And the bunting's ordered out,
I have noticed several people
Ask themselves in honest doubt
Why the War-Lord's lifted finger fails to bring a peace about.
Yet, though England, crushed and quailing,
Kicks his dove-bird down the stair,
I shall trust, with faith unfailing,
In my KAISER'S conquering air
(Still I blame no man for thinking there must be a catch somewhere).
O.S.