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

The United States Marines
Our flag's unfurled to every breeze From dawn to setti...

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

Joyce Kilmer
The first poet and author in the American army to give up his...

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

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

Where The Four Winds Meet
There are songs of the north and songs of the south, A...

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

The Poilu
The soldier of France, the poilu, is a crusader. He is fight...

America Enters The War
SPEECH BY LLOYD GEORGE, BRITISH PREMIER, APRIL 12, 1917 ...

The Second Line Of Defense
In Norwich, England, stands a memorial which will forever be ...

The Fleet That Lost Its Soul
Sailors and especially fighters on the sea have in all ages p...

America Comes In
We are coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine, ...

Bombing Metz
ADAPTED FROM THE ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY RAOUL LUFBERY In Janua...

The United States At War--at Home
When any nation declares war, it immediately brings upon itse...

Where Are You Going Great-heart?
Where are you going, Great-Heart, With your eager face...

Why The United States Entered The War
The United States was slow to enter the war, because her peop...

Waiting For The Flash
Not at once can the mind grasp the full significance of the w...

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

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



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.





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