Obscured the sun, the world is dark;
Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc,
Send down thy spark.
Let every heart in France be stirred,
By such an all-compelling word
As thou once heard.
Say to each soul, ‘Lo! I am near;
My voice still speaks in accents clear.
Be still and hear.
‘The France I saved can not be lost;
Though tempest-torn and terror-tossed,
Count not the cost.
‘Give as the maid of Domrémy
Gave all—gave life itself to see
Her country free.
‘Back of great France my spirit towers
To aid her through the darkest hours
With God’s own powers!’
Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc,
Shine through the night, speak through the dark
The while we hark.
THE GIRL OF THE U.S.A.
Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine,
And I think every fellow will state
That the ‘what-you-may-call-it’ coiffured way
They put up their hair is great!
And they know how to dress, and they wear their clothes
In a fetching, Frenchy way;
And yet to me, there is just one girl—
The girl of the U.S.A.
I like to listen when French girls talk,
Though I’m weak in the ‘parlez-vous’ game;
But the language of youth in every land
Is somehow about the same,
And I’ve learned a regular code of shrugs,
And they seem to know what I say!
But the girl whose voice goes straight to my heart
Is the girl of the U.S.A.