When it starts to render “Sambre et Meuse,” the march that won the day
At the battle of the Marne, one sees again
The grey-green hosts of Hundom melt before the stern array
Of our gallant sister-ally’s blue-clad men.
And when it plays our Anthem, with rendition bold and clear—
While the khaki lads stand steady—then we feel
That, though tongues and ways may vary, we’ve found brothers over here,
Tried in war, and in allegiance true as steel.
For it’s olive-drab, horizon-blue, packed closely side by side,
Till their colors set ablaze the grey old square;
And it’s olive-drab, horizon-blue, whatever may betide,
That will blaze the way to victory “up there.”
So, while standing thus together, let us pledge anew our troth
To the Cause—the world set free!—for which we fight.
As the evening twilight gilds the ranks of blue and khaki both,
And the bugles die away into the night.
THE OLD GANG ON THE CORNER
WILLIAM HERSCHELL
in Collier’s Weekly
Permission to reproduce in this book
THE Old Gang on the Corner! What an arrant tribe they were;
The Widow Kelly’s Connie—he had always worried her!
The Schultz boys, Jake and Rudy; the parson’s own, Chub Smith,
“Who,” sister told the neighbors, “they can’t do nothin’ with.”
Young Tony Boots, the Dago, and Scamp, the tinner’s son—
To them a mischief thought of was a mischief quickly done.
The Old Gang on the Corner! In the arc light’s friendly glow
They trooped each night till Tim the Cop came by and made them go.
But all that now is ended, for the Sword of Hate is drawn—
The Old Gang on the Corner from its happy haunt is gone.
The street lamp idly sputters; Tim, the lonely, walks his beat,
His good heart well ahunger for the Old Gang in the street.
The Old Gang on the Corner! Now each loyal mother brags
No other neighborhood can boast as many service flags.
Con Kelly’s won a sergeantcy; the parson’s black-sheep son
Has had his picture printed for heroic deeds he’s done.
The Schultz boys, in the navy, though they yet are in their teens,
Are mates with Scamp and Tony in the chase for submarines.
The Old Gang on the Corner! Yes, we’ve all forgotten now
The Hallowe’en they calcimined McDougall’s muley cow,
We’ve put aside the memories of cream and cake they stole
When our church had a festival to pay for last year’s coal.
All that is in the Yesterday—they’re now our fighting men—
And, God, won’t we be happy if they all come home again?