Say! Tanks are sport—when you get used to them,
They’re like a blooming railroad, self-contained;
They lay their tracks, as you might say—pro tem,
And pick ’em up, and there’s good distance gained.
They roar across rough country like a gale,
They lean against a house and push it down,
They’re like a baby fortress under sail,
And antic as a three-ring circus clown.
Sam says they’re slow. They may seem so to him—
They can’t show fancy mile-a-minute stuff,
But when they charge, in armored fighting trim,
You bet the Germans find ’em fast enough!
Now Sam and I are waiting, side by side,
To steam across yon farm-land in the night;
We’ll take their blamed barbed wire in our strides
And stamp a German trench line out of sight.
A HYMN OF FREEDOM
MARY PERRY KING
in Collier’s Weekly
Permission to reproduce in this book
“UNFURL the flag of Freedom,
Fling far the bugle blast!
There comes a sound of marching
From out the mighty past.
Let every peak and valley
Take up the valiant cry:
Where, beautiful as morning,
Our banner cuts the sky.
Free born to peace and justice,
We stand to guard and save
The liberty of manhood,
The faith our fathers gave.
Then soar aloft, Old Glory,
And tell the waiting breeze
No law but Right and Mercy
Shall rule the Seven Seas.