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The Capture Of Dun
After the Americans had cleared the Saint Mihiel salient, Mar...

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

The Secret Service
The United States did not declare war till nearly three years...

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

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

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

U S Destroyer _osmond C Ingram_
If you were standing on the deck of a patrol boat watching fo...

At The Front
What one soldier writes, millions have experienced. At f...

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

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

Fighting A Depth Bomb
All who have read of the sinking of the Lusitania, by a torpe...

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

A Congressional Message
FROM PRESIDENT WILSON'S ANNUAL ADDRESS TO CONGRESS DECEMBE...

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

Just Before The Tide Turned
On the 27th of last May the Germans broke through the French ...

The First To Fall In Battle
During the trench warfare, it was customary to raid the enemy...

Redeemed Italy
Italy, since 1860 at least, has cherished the dream that some...

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

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

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



The Call To Arms In Our Street






There's a woman sobs her heart out,
With her head against the door,
For the man that's called to leave her,
--God have pity on the poor!
But it's beat, drums, beat,
While the lads march down the street,
And it's blow, trumpets, blow,
Keep your tears until they go.

There's a crowd of little children
That march along and shout,
For it's fine to play at soldiers
Now their fathers are called out.
So it's beat, drums, beat;
And who will find them food to eat?
And it's blow, trumpets, blow,
Oh, it's little children know.

* * * * *

There's a young girl who stands laughing,
For she thinks a war is grand,
And it's fine to see the lads pass,
And it's fine to hear the band.
So it's beat, drums, beat,
To the fall of many feet;
And it's blow, trumpets, blow,
God go with you where you go.

W. M. LETTS.





Next: The Kaiser's Crown

Previous: Vive La France 1



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