HER JOHNNY
Since Johnny has joined the Marine corps,
Of course he will do what he's told,
And Johnny will be at home on the sea
The day he is eighteen years old.
Just what they expect of my baby
Ain't clear to his maw; my, oh, my!
But Johnny's a-wearin' the blue—and ain't carin'—
He's gone! Is it wrong if I cry?
It ain't been so long, I remember,
That Johnny, my baby, was sick
Whenever he'd get on a boat, and he'd fret
Till we'd land—which was usually quick.
But now, with his gun and his kit-bag,
He's answered the call, bless his heart!
And he'll square out his jaw and think of his maw
And go in to win from the start!
My Johnny's not fightin' for pleasure
(I know he'll be sea-sick, pore kid!)
But he said, "If I stayed, they'd call me afraid;
I gotta sign up"—and he did.
So now I sit here, sorter dreamin'
Of the days he was mine. They are done—
I'm proud; but I wish—I could fix up a dish
Of doughnuts for Johnny, my son!
THE FIRST FLEET
We slid into the harbor here,
A line of battle-cruisers gray,
With hungry guns as silent as
The bands aboard that did not play.
The fog was soft, the fog was damp,
The hush was thick and wide as space,
But ev'ry man was standing at
Attention in his given place.
We'd made the port, with time to spare—
And Uncle Sam's first Fleet was there!
Then came those other navy men—
Our allies in this troubled cause—
Weary of holding back the Hun,
Clipping, too slow, his cruel claws.
Our Admiral, a few-words man,
Greeted the visitors.... "We're here,"
He said, and that was all. They smiled—
And said they hoped the weather'd clear.
But still those men with tired eyes
Felt mighty grateful, I surmise!
Around our Fleet—not very large—
We took them, thoughtful faces set;
And then back to the fog-soaked town
They went—uncomfortably wet;
But in those eyes a happier light,
That told him what they'd like to say—
That they were glad he had come back,
As he had hoped to do some day.