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World Wars

The Miner And The Tiger
On an October day in 1866, David Lloyd George, then a little ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Really Invincible Armada
The northern coast of Scotland is about as far north as the s...

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

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

To Wish To Take Away One From The Immortal Glory Which Belongs
to the Allied armies, nor from the undying gratitude which we o...

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

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

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

November 11 1918
Sinners are said sometimes to repent and change their ways at...

The Soldiers Who Go To Sea
If the army or the navy ever gaze on Heaven's scenes, Th...

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

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

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

When The Tide Turned
THE AMERICAN ATTACK AT CHATEAU-THIERRY AND BELLEAU WOOD IN TH...



The Little Old Road






There's a breath of May in the breeze
On the little old road;
May in hedges and trees,
May, the red and the white,
May to left and to right,
Of the little old road.

There's a ribbon of grass either side
Of the little old road;
It's a strip just so wide,
A strip nobody owns,
Where a man's weary bones
When he feels getting old
May lie crushing the gold
Of the silverweed flower
For a long lazy hour
By the little old road.

There's no need to guide the old mare
On the little old road.
She knows that just there
Is the big gravel pit
(How we played in it
As mites of boys
In our corduroys!)
And that here is the pond
With the poplars beyond,
And more May--always May,
Away and away
Down the little old road.

There's a lot to make a man glad
On the little old road
(It's the home-going road),
And a lot to make him sad.
Ah! he'd like to forget,
But he can't, not just yet,
With chaps still out there. . . .
She's stopping, the steady old mare.
Is it here the road bends?
So the long journey ends
At the end of the old road,
The little old road.

There's some one, you say, at the gate
Of the little old house by the road?
Is it Mother? Or Kate?
And they're not going to mind
That, since Wypers, [1] I'm blind,
And the road is a long dark road?

GERTRUDE VAUGHAN.


[1] The Battle of Ypres.





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