The drafted men fought hard and well,
But when the days were black,
Glad we sprang to the call to front
The snarling, charging pack.
The red-fanged, savage hounds of hate,
In a victor’s drunken might:
The unleashed, howling gray hordes
Sweeping plain and height.
The drafted men fought hard and well,
But when the great floes pressed,
Came we to break the ice and clear
A channel for the rest.
The drafted men fought hard and well,
But now the thing is o’er,
We ’re glad we came the way we came
When the Nation rose to war.
The drafted men fought hard and well,
But now the thing is done,
We’re glad we came the time we came
In the heyday of the Hun.
Shades of Patrick Henry—
Of Washington and Hale,
God grant we’ve kept the trust—God grant
The Old Guard shall not fail.
The drafted men fought hard and well,
The whole vast army did,
But we prefer the spirit
Of the Bayard and the Cid.
O. D.
O. D., it ought to mean Oh Damn,
When in the pay of Uncle Sam:
But when you hear the soldier blab
“O. D.,” it just means Olive Drab.
The leggings, breeches and the boots
Of Uncle Samuel’s war galoots—
The overcoats and jackets too,
Confess the selfsame mournful hue.