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World Wars

The Call To Arms In Our Street
There's a woman sobs her heart out, With her head agains...

The Thirteenth Regiment
The World War has shown clearly that all peoples are not alik...

Vive La France 1
The determination of the people of Alsace and Lorraine not ...

The Yank
The boche went into the war as a robber, the poilu as a crusa...

The Searchlights
Political morality differs from individual morality, because ...

The Unspeakable Turk
Although the great issues of the war were decided, and victor...

When the last gun has long withheld Its thunder, and i...

Sergeant York Of Tennessee
People will always differ as to what was the most remarkable ...

The Tommy
John Masefield, the English writer, says, St. George did not ...

Where The Tide Turned
It is the general impression that the tide of victory set in ...

So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man...

President Wilson In France
On December 14, 1918, President Wilson arrived in Paris. He ...

In Memoriam
[THE FIGHTING YEARS, 1914-1918] Ring out, wild bells, ...

A Boy Of Perugia
In the year 1500, Raphael was a boy of eighteen in Perugia wo...

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. ...

The Quality Of Mercy
There is an old saying, Like king, like people, which means t...

Harry Lauder Sings
Harry Lauder, an extremely popular Scotch singer and entertai...

The United States At War--in France
Adapted with a few omissions and changes in language from the...

A Carol From Flanders
1914 In Flanders on the Christmas morn The trench...

I Knew You Would Come
We are all very proud that America was permitted to have a sh...

Song Of The Aviator

(This poem was written for an entertainment given by the Y.M.C.A. at
an aviation barracks in a large camp in France. Mrs. Wilcox addressed
five hundred aviators, and these verses were recited with great effect
by Mrs. May Randall. After the entertainment there was a rush to
obtain autographed copies of the poem.)

You may thrill with the speed of your thoroughbred steed,
You may laugh with delight as you ride the ocean,
You may rush afar in your touring car,
Leaping, sweeping by things that are creeping--
But you never will know the joy of motion
Till you rise up over the earth some day
And soar like an eagle, away--away.

High and higher, above each spire,
Till lost to sight is the tallest steeple,
With the winds you chase in a valiant race,
Looping, swooping, where mountains are grouping,
Hailing them comrades, in place of people.
Oh, vast is the rapture the bird man knows
As into the ether he mounts and goes.

He is over the sphere of human fear;
He has come into touch with things supernal.
At each man's gate death stands await;
And dying flying were better than lying
In sick beds crying for life eternal.
Better to fly halfway to God
Than to burrow too long like a worm in the sod.


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