If you are a Tory gay,
Or a Grit,
Throw your politics away,
Do your bit,
War is now the game to play;
You are it.
If you have good things to eat,
Pack a box,
If you are a maiden neat,
Knit some socks,
Keep the soldier's tired feet,
Off the rocks.
Get a piece of land on spec,
Plow and sow,
There's a place for every peck,
You can grow.
Swat the Kaiser in the neck,
Issue him a passage check
Down below.
THE WORLD'S OVERDRAFT
May, 1917
On life's broad fields, whate'er we sow,
'Tis certain we shall reap;
The watching scribes, above, below,
Somewhere a record keep.
The faithless church, the lying creed
Teaching that wrong is right,
The childless home, the heartless greed,
The jealousy and spite.
The feasting, selfish, idle rich,
The hungry, hardened poor,
The drunkard lying in the ditch,
The brothel's open door;
Whate'er we do, where'er we dwell,
Whate'er our names or creeds,
They total up in heaven or hell,
The sum of all our deeds.
We thought the race was to the swift,
The battle to the strong,
Like mariners with boat adrift,
We heard the sirens' song,
We put our trust in armies vast,
In battleships and marts,
We deemed but hoodoos of the past
The prayers from human hearts.
So heavy grew the moral debt
Of every class and rank,
No further credit could we get
At Satan's private bank.
The wealth bestowed by sea and land
We squandered in a day,
The devil took our notes of hand,
And now there's hell to pay.