UC-NRLF 115 fiDfi m BROWNLEE-M LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 1'lSf Class WAR-TIME ECHOES PATRIOTIC POEMS HEROIC AND PATHETIC 9 f HUMOROUS and DIALECTIC ) <) & OF THE @! ! @> SPANISH -AMERICAN WAR ^ $ Selected and arranged by JAMES HENRY BROWNLEE, M.A. Professor of Elocution in the STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, CARBONDALE, ILLI- NOIS, Compiler of " Martial Recitations for the Veterans' Camp Fire." % % % THE WERNER COMPANY NEW YORK AKRON, OHIO CHICAGO COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY THE WERNER COMPANY SELECTIONS 220522 WAR-TIME ECHOES IN VERSE HEROIC AND PATHETIC, HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC, OF THE ^ SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR DEDICATED TO THE GENEROUS YOUTH OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE COMPILER PREFACE THE WAR between the United States of America and Spain, which will be known in history as the War for Humanity, lasted only one hundred and thirteen days. Though brief, it was glorious. At the call of the President for volunteers, a million men responded, of whom only one-fourth was required. Such unanimity of patriotic sentiment had never before been exhibited in our history. Party spirit was hushed; men remembered only that they were Amer- icans. Those who wore the blue and those who wore the gray during the great Civil War, now touched fraternal elbows as they fell into rank under the beautiful banner of their common country, while the carping critics of Europe ceased for a time their snarling to marvel at the tremendous spectacle. The war on our part was little else than a pan- orama of successes; and every loyal American heart swelled with pride as one splendid -scene after another was unrolled. The victory of D'ewey and his- sa-ilots m Manila Bay; the trapping of Cervera by Sampson and Sehley in the bay '--"of ' -Santiago;- the- daring deed 'of Hobson and' his -men;- the bold dash of -the Spanish Admiral for the open sea, and the utter destruction of his powerful fleet; the victory of Shafter and his heroic soldiers over Total, an4 the fall of Santiago; x PREFACE the triumphal, though arrested conquest of Porto Rico by Miles; the capture of Manila by Dewey and Mer- ritt, these scenes passed before us in bright succes- sion, and will furnish inspiring themes for the orator and the historian throughout coming time. And yet, in their happiest flights of description, the orator and the historian may not hope to equal in vividness and beauty the verbal pictures the poets have drawn for us. In this volume, which is a com- panion to MARTIAL RECITATIONS, every phase of the short, sharp struggle is represented by its best poem. The wreck of the <( Maine, w the farewell, the camp, the field, the trench, the charge, the sea-fight, the hos- pital, the soldier's burial, the angels of the Red Cross, the brave wives and mothers, the crowning victory, the soldier's return and his welcome home, all these the poets have painted for us in words that fairly sparkle, and glow, and burn. The interest of the present volume springs, of course, from the selections themselves; and praise, if any is due, belongs to the poets herein represented, rather than to the compiler. Borrowing a beautiful figure from Montaigne, he may say, (< I have culled the flowers and furnished the thread that binds them together; but their beauty and fragrance is their own. This volume, then, cannot fail in interest for every patriot. In the hope that it may receive as warm a welcome as that accorded to MARTIAL RECITATIONS, and that it may foster a deeper love for our country whose past is so glorious and whose future is so promising, this book is sent forth upon its mission. The compiler's thanks are due to the authors and publishers who have accorded him permission to use PREFACE XI valuable copyright poems as well as to some with whom he has not been able to communicate. He desires especially to acknowledge his obligations to the firm of Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square, New York City, for courtesies extended. In so far as it has been possible, he has indicated the sources of the poems in a note at the close of each selection. CARBONDALE, ILL., November 10, 1898. CONTENTS PAGK Alphabet of the War Boston Transcript 17 Cuba Libre : A Prophecy Joaquin Miller 19 Gomez to Blanco Edna Dean Proctor 20 On the Eve of War Danske Dandridge 22 A Voice from the West Alfred Austin 23 A Vision of Reconcilement Edward McQueen Gray .... 24 Mansfield's Eagle Song Richard Mansfield 27 The Saxons William R. Wood 28 The Show E. Irenaeus Stevenson 30 War Cincinnati Commercial Tri- bune 31 The Awakening From the Aetna 33 A Voice from the Wreck of the <( Maine I. Edgar Jones 34 Flood the Guncotton ! Chaplain D. R. Lowell, D.D. 36 Nemesis C. H. Crandall 38 The Rush of the Oregon Arthur Guiterman 39 Union Jack Minna Irving 41 Old Glory Ironquill 43 Spain New York Tribune ........ 44 The Smithville Volunteer Edward Singer 45 An Old War-Horse Atlanta Constitution 48 Humors of War Time Frank L. Stanton 49 A Mother's Offering Madeline S. Bridges 50 The Recruit's Soliloquy Cleveland Leader 51 Recruits Washington Star 52 A Soldier's Heart Baltimore News 53 When Johnny Gets His Gun .... John Paul Bocock 54 The Making of a Soldier Frederick Brush 56 God Bless Our Gallant Boys in Blue H. H. Van Meter 57 (xiii) XJV CONTENTS PAG The Old Snare Drum George E. Powell 5 Our Bonnie Boys in Blue E. Dorsey Anderson 6 The Brave at Home Baltimore News 6 U. S. Spells Us Anon 6 At the Front Margaret E. Sangster 6 The Soldier's Wife Elliott Flower 6 Northern Pine to Southern Pal- metto Thomas Sullivan 6 Two Voices J Atlanta Constitution \ fi \ Minneapolis Journal \ ' One Beneath Old Glory From Werner's Magazine. 7 Blue and Gray Are One William Lightfoot Visscher . 7 War Scars are Healed I. Edgar Jones 7 Dixie and Yankee Doodle . Lawrence Porcher Hext 7 Together Frank L. Stanton 7 Chant of the New Union Edmund Russell 7 The Stream O' Freedom Amzi Tibbals 7 The American Song M. J. Savage 8 The New Imperialism Robert Burns Wilson 8 Old Glory Rev. William A. Quayle,D.D. 8 Hail Our Glorious Banner Thomas Sullivan 8 The Hero of Manila Anon 8 A Song for Our Fleets Will Carleton 8 Off to Sea Atlanta Constitution 8 Dewey S. E. Kiser 9 Guam W. J. Lampton 9 The Hero Down Below Chicago Times-Herald 9 Hoi' Dem Philuppines George V. Hobart 9 The Shell Gustav Kobbe g The Farmer's Boys T. C. Harbaugh 9 The Band Played On Cleveland Plain Dealer . . . 10 To the Powers John Kendrick Bangs 10 The Flag M. W. Stryker 10 Ol' Pecos Bill The Denver Poet 10 The Islands of the Sea George E. Woodberry 10 The Missouri Mule St. Louis Globe-Democrat . . 10 The Regular John Jerome Rooney u Rough Riders' Roundelay Private Edwin Emerson 1 1 The Yankee Dude'll Do S. E. Kiser n The Yankee Doodle Soldier Denver Times n (< Apples Finkey.^the Water-Boy .John Jerome Rooney n CONTENTS xv PAGE The Reg'lar Army Man Joe Lincoln 120 The Regular Army, O Tom Masson 122 Before Santiago Clinton Scollard 123 Wheeler at Santiago James Lindsay Gordon 125 Rafferty of F J. L. H 126 Song of the Colored Trooper. . . . Edward F. Burns 128 The Negro Soldier B. M. Channing 129 With Teddy Anon 131 Santiago's Dead E. S. Roberts 132 The Soldier's Burial John Jerome Rooney 134 Our New Heroes Sydney Reid 135 Mighty Fine Harold MacGrath 137 Awk'ard Ned The Denver Post 140 The Stalking of the Sea Wolves . Charles W. Thompson 142 Hobson and His Men Thomas E. Smiley 143 Hobson Ironquill 144 The Hobson- Arnold Kiss St. Louis Post-Dispatch 146 His Blood W. D. Fox 147 Hymn of the Santiago Spaniard . Cleveland Leader 149 The Vesuvius Cleveland Leader 150 Survival of the Fittest Anon 151 The Mosquito Fleet James Courtney Challiss. . . 152 The Eagle and the Vulture Omaha World-Herald 153 A Ballade of Blue Jackets Joe Lincoln 154 The Gnarly Sailor Man Anon 155 Song of the Battleship Stokers . .Katharine Coolidge 159 Battle Prayer Francis H. Tabor 160 The Man Who Cooks the Grub . . Anon 161 Captain Philip Charles W. Thompson 162 Victory Sara C. Wilbur 163 A Song of Heroes Washington Star 164 The Knight in Yellow D. F. Peffly 166 The Way in the Navy John Jerome Rooney 168 McKinley to Miles Phil. Evening Call 170 Their Daddie's Kids Prof. J. H. Brinkerhoff 171 Ananias Outdone Cleveland Plain Dealer. ... 173 Our Soldiers' Song David Graham Adee 174 A National Hymn Detroit News-Tribune 175 At the Old Stand Anon 176 The Red Cross Grand Army Advocate 177 The Red Cross Army Nurse . . . . J. Edmund Vance Cooke. ... 178 XVI CONTENTS My War Girl James C. Challiss The Old Man's Boys The Denver Post Margaret E. Sangster .Cleveland Leader. . . . Baltimore American . , Anon . James Stuart Dixon . . The Absent Boy The One Who Won't Be There. The Man Behind the Tape An Immortal Crown We Left Him on the Field Last Taps Theodore Roberts Peace at Last Mrs. Mary^B. Wingate . When the Boys Come Home ... John Hay Git 'Er Shoutin' , Detroit Journal When the Flag Comes Home . . . Anon Pax Vobiscum Thomas E. Smiley .... A Hymn of Victory James Buckham The New United States Edwin L. Sabin Te Deum Laudamus New York Tribune . . . The Jolly Old Flag Frank L. Stanton On the Sea Throne F. H. Costello Chickamauga Baltimore News Good Times A-Comin' Rev. Old Uncle Scipio A Prayer S. Weir Mitchell, M.D. When the Great Gray Ships Come in Guy Wetmore Carryl . . PAGE . 179 . 181 .. 182 . . 184 .. 185 .. 186 .. 187 .. 189 .. 190 191 K, . 192 .- 194 .. I 9 6 . . 198 199 . . 2OO . 201 . . 2O2 2O3 . . 2O4 .. 206 2O 7 ALPHABET OF THE WAR. A is for Admiral, impassionate, cold; Who waits for instructions, and does as he's told. B stands for (< Brooklyn, w commanded by Schley; The hottest of liners he takes on the fly. C is for Cuba, a tight little isle; To get which we may have to fight quite a while. D is yes, Dewey, a teacher of Spanish; The first lesson caused all his pupils to vanish. E stands for Evans, who's never so happy As when there's a chance to get in something (< scrappy. w F is for Freedom, which means a great deal When your neck has been under a vile Spanish heel. G is for Germany, whose rude employes Should learn better manners be taught to say please. H stands for Heroes, on land and on sea, Who laid down their lives for their friends' liberty. I's for Insurgents, who holler for aid; Then eat up the rations and loaf in the shade. J is for Jones, Davy Jones, if you will, Whose lockers we've twice had occasion to fill. K stands for King; the young King of Spain, Who's been led to regret what happened the <( Maine. J> L is for Long, who has great common sense, And in whom the people place all confidence. 1 8 M's for McKinley; we welcome the fact That he's handling this matter with very great tact. N is for Nelson; Nelson A. Miles, On whom we depend to o'ercome Spanish wiles. O's for ^Oquendo," a powerful cruiser; But out on a big hunt they managed to lose her. P's for Porto Rico; the place had some forts, But no doubt ere this they've been knocked out of sorts. Q is for Queen, most unhappy of ladies, Who fears, perhaps rightly, our visit to Cadiz. R's for Reporters; they're well to the fore, But they mustn't imagine they're running this war. S is for Shafter, a man of great girth, In spite of which fact he is proving his worth. T stands for Toral, whose acted campaign Was played for the gallery over in Spain. U is for Union, the only cement To strengthen a state and disruptions prevent. V's for <( Vizcaya w ; she made a great show, But, proving a nuisance, we sent her below. W is for Wainwright, whose motto must be, <( The greater the odds, the better for me." X is the cross that is put against Spain, And means that she's out of the Blue Book again. Y's for the Youngsters that sneaked to the front, And gave their poor mammas no end of a hunt. Z's for the Zeal that has hall-marked this fight; This quality wins when stamped upon right. Boston Transcript. PATRIOTIC POEMS 19 CUBA LIBRE. [A Prophecy Made Eighteen Years Ago.] COMES a cry from Cuban water, From the warm, dusk Antilles, From the lost Atlanta's daughter, Drowned in blood as drowned in seas; Comes a cry of purpled anguish See her struggles, hear her cries! Shall she live, or shall she languish ? Shall she sink or shall she rise ? Shall she rise by all that's holy! Shall she live and shall she last; Rise as we, when crushed and lonely, From the blackness of the past ? Bid her strike! Lo! It is written Blood for blood and life for life. Bid her smite as she is smitten; Stars and stripes were born for strife. Once we flashed her lights of freedom, Lights that dazzled her dark eyes Till she could but yearning heed them, Reach her hands and try to rise. Then they stabbed her, choked her, drowned her: Ah ! these rustling chains that bound her ! Oh! these robbers at her throat! And the land that forged these fetters ? Ask five hundred years of news. 20 WAR-TIME ECHOES Stake and thumbscrew for their betters ? Inquisitions! Banished Jews! Chains and slavery! What reminder Of one red man in that land ? Why, these very chains that bind her Bound Columbus, foot and hand! She shall rise as rose Columbus, From his chains, from shame and wrong Rise as morning, matchless, wondrous Rise as some rich morning song Rise a ringing song and story, Valor, Love personified ? Stars and stripes espouse her glory, Love and Liberty allied. Joaquin Miller. * * * GOMEZ TO BLANCO. [In answer to Blanco's proposition, January, 1898, that for riches and a ship to carry him from Cuba, he should abandon the struggle for liberty.] CAN honor for gold be bartered ? Are treason and truth at one ? How dare you debase my purpose with a proffer that shames the sun! God pardon me now for believing a just thought left to Spain, And help us to grander effort our glorious object to gain. PATRIOTIC POEMS 21 A ship to bear me from Cuba! Riches for all my life! Are you mad ? The world would not tempt me to turn from this patriot strife. I, who through darkness and anguish, see ever before me shine Cuba resplendent with freedom, and count it a vision divine ! Do you think I forget Francisco, my son, the soul of my soul, Slain by a Spanish assassin ere yet we were nearing the goal ? Aye, and the host of the valiant, slaughtered, impris- oned, betrayed, While the peaks and the palms and the winds alone know where their bones are laid ? But the isle they died to rescue, their reverent shrine shall be, And her circling waves will lull them with a song of victory. A ship for some far-off haven ? 'Tis you who should seek retreat Where the storms of indignation and scorn less fiercely beat! You stand in the lonely shadow of the pride and de- spair of Spain; Before me hope is glowing; and the best of earth are fain To hail the bright flag waving above our Cuba free ; God bless her dauntless heroes! that day we soon shall see. Edna Dean Proctor. 22 WAR-TIME ECHOES ON THE EVE OF WAR. O GOD of Battles, who art still The God of Love, the God of Rest, Subdue Thy people's fiery will, And quell the passions in their breast! Before we bathe our hands in blood We lift them to the Holy Rood. The waiting nations hold their breath To catch the dreadful battle cry; And in the silence as of death The fateful hours go softly by. O hear Thy people where they pray, And shrive our souls before the fray! Before the sun of peace shall set, We kneel apart a solemn while; Pity the eyes with sorrow wet, But pity most the lips that smile. The night comes fast; we hear afar The baying of the wolves of war. Not lightly, O not lightly, Lord, Let this our awful task begin; Speak from Thy throne a warning word Above the angry factions' din. If this be Thy most holy will, Be with us still be with us still! Danske Dandridge, in The Independent, PATRIOTIC POEMS 23 A VOICE FROM THE WEST. WHAT is the voice I hear On the wind of the western sea? Sentinel, listen from out Cape Clear, And say what the voice may be. Tis a proud, free people calling loud to a people proud and free. And it says to them : (< Kinsman, hail ! We severed have been too long; Now let us have done with a worn-out tale, The tale of an ancient wrong. And our friendship last long as love doth last, and be stronger than death is strong. w Answer them, sons of the selfsame race, And blood of the selfsame clan, Let us speak with each other, face to face, And answer as man to man, And loyally love and trust each other as none but freemen can. Now fling them out to the breeze, Shamrock, thistle, and rose, And the Star Spangled Banner unfurl with these, A message to friends and foes, Wherever the sails of peace are seen and wherever the war wind blows. A message to bond and thrall to wake, For wherever we come, we twain, 24 WAR-TIME ECHOES The throne of the tyrant shall rock and quake, And his menace be void and vain, For you are lords of a strong young land, and we are lords of the main. Yes, this is the voice on the bluff March gale; <( We severed have been too long ; But now we have done with a worn-out tale, The tale of an ancient wrong, And our friendship last long as love doth last and be stronger than death is strong. w Alfred Austin, Poet-Laureate of England. * * * A VISION OF RECONCILEMENT. From (< Harper's Weekly." Copyright, 1898, Harper and Brothers. MEN OF THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE: ACROSS a thousand leagues of sea Ye may not parley face to face, But yet your generous hearts are free To interchange a generous thought; Or else in vain your splendid seers Have to their listening brethren sought To teach the lesson of the years. This is the hour of human stress; Surging against the clanging door Of doom bewildered millions press Together on a dwindling floor, Where still the elemental war Is waged between the Day and Night; PATRIOTIC POEMS 25 The powers that aid, the powers that bar Their struggling fellows from the light. Oppugnant forces on the earth Have set humanity at stake; Here Liberty is choked at birth; There Freedom bids the soul awake. All are involved, for none may shun That issue, and mankind can mark How some are turning to the sun And some are huddling in the dark. And some are trampling others down, And some are hurling others back; Here a new nation wins renown; There drifts a dynasty to wrack. And closer, as the narrowing space Drives each upon the other, grows The grip of wrestling race with race, The grapple of instinctive foes. What course to take ? What cause espouse ? Self-interest or common weal ? Madman or saint alone avows What steadier intellects but feel. Yet, by the things that make you great The wrath that stirs you at the cry Of freemen overborne; your hate Of wrong; your scorn of treachery, Ye stand engaged at Tyranny To strike; earth's fallen to uplift; Are ye not heirs of Liberty And stewards of her priceless gift ? 26 WAR-TIME ECHOES Tis not for nothing in your veins The ichor of the Viking runs That bids you firmly grasp the reins Of rule, bequeathing to your sons A birthright of supremacy By deep deserving strongly stayed; No germ of fatuous ecstasy, But on the prime foundation laid. Ye are the vanguard of the bright Battalions of progressive Time; March onward, upward to the light; Fulfil your destiny sublime To be the marshallers of Peace And Progress in their blest career; From Ignorance to wrest release; To vanquish Enmity and Fear. Mine eyes may not behold it, but Some day shall rise a nobly planned Valhalla where with Farragut Shall Collingwood and Nelson stand. The stars and stripes and crosses flaunt Their mingled blazons through the dome Where Wellington shall welcome Grant, Sherman and Wolfe shall find a home. There, Freedom's sleepless warder, shall His wings a mighty Eagle spread Above that fane; within that hall A Lion guards the sacred dead. And highest in that House of Fame Shall stand Virginia's deathless son; And England write her noblest name After the name of Washington. Edward McQueen Gray. PATRIOTIC POEMS 27 MANSFIELD'S EAGLE SONG. THE lioness whelped and the sturdy cub Was seized by an eagle and carried up And homed for a while in an eagle's nest, And slept for a while on an eagle's breast. And the eagle taught it the eagle's song: (< To be stanch and valiant and free and strong ! M The lion whelp sprang from the aerie nest, From the lofty crag where the queen birds rest; He fought the king on the spreading plain, And drove him back o'er the foaming main. He held the land as a thrifty chief, And reared his cattle and reaped his sheaf. Nor sought the help of a foreign hand, Yet welcomed all to his own free land! Two were the sons that the country bore To the northern lakes and the southern shore, And chivalry dwelt with the southern son, And industry lived with the northern one. Tears for the time when they broke and fought! Tears was the price of the union wrought! And the land was red in a sea of blood, Where brother for brother had swelled the flood! And now that the two are one again, Behold on their shield the word refrain! 28 WAR-TIME ECHOES And the lion cubs twain sing the eagle's song; (( To be stanch and valiant and free and strong ! M For the eagle's beak and the lion's paw, And the lion's fangs and the eagle's claw, And the eagle's swoop and the lion's might, And the lion's leap and the eagle's sight Shall guard the flag with the word "refrain," Now that the two are one again! Here's to a cheer for the Yankee ships! And <( Well done, Sam ! w from the mother's lips ! Richard Mansfield. * * * THE SAXONS. WE SING the fame of the Saxon name, And the spell of its world- wide power, Of its triumphs vast in the glorious past, And the might of the rising hour; And our bosoms glow, for we proudly know, With the flag of Right unfurled, That the strength and skill of the Saxon will Is bound to rule the world. And we glory not in the empty thought That the Saxon arm is strong. Nor alone to know, tho' 'tis surely so, That the seas to her belong. But this our pride, with Wrong defied, And the sin-cloud backward hurled, That the word of God, our triumph rod, Is bound to rule the world. PATRIOTIC POEMS 29 In days of yore from the Saxon shore Our sea-born fathers came, They conquered then by the might of men, And sword, and spear, and flame; But to us 'tis given by the voice of heaven, With the peace flag far unfurled, In our union's might, by the power of Right, To rule, 'neath God, the world. In the olden time there were deeds sublime, And dear-bought victories won; For the hearts were true on the heaving blue, Or behind the fortress gun; And they championed Right in their rising might With their war-flags old unfurled; Yea, Wrong went down 'neath the Saxon frown, But its smile shall rule the world. And perchance of old, if the truth be told, There were brother hearts estranged; But the wound is healed and the friendship sealed, As the years have upward ranged. Let the tale of wrong, now dead so long, With the old war-flags be furled; For a peace sublime, in the coming time, Is bound to rule the world. 'Tis a mighty dower, this earth-wide power, And a mighty task involves; With our hearts steel-true, let us hold in view The might of our high resolves; Let us stand for right in our race's might, With our fearless flag unfurled; For the might of Love from our God above Is bound to rule the world. William R. Wood in Montreal Witness. 30 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE SHOW. From "Harper's Weekly. * Copyright, 1898, Harper and Brothers. * COME in, come in ! }> the Showman cries ; And touts with clattering, fleshless jaws. (< My panorama edifies, My portraits catch even Hell's applause. I've store of paintings praised Below, With scenes to make Friend Satan vain. But none such mastery can show As these the ghastly art of Spain. (< From burning homes, from screw and rack, See Jewish maids and graybeards flee; With branded brow and livid back, The pillaged Moors attain the sea. And, pray, admire these dungeons grim, That stake, those robes with tongues of flame They wrought their work as serving Him A Torquemada dared to name. "Roll on, my show! Dark Alva here, My apt lieutenant, sullen stands Stranger to mercy as to fear Apollyon of the Netherlands. And there, toward helpless England's shore, The dread Armada glides, ill-starred; My harvest had been thousands more Had Ireland's reefs forgot their guard! Ho, for the New World ! Knife in hand, Their victims gasping at their feet, See false Menendez and his band, Their master-butchery complete. PATRIOTIC POEMS 31 In tortures that a fiend might dread, Lo! shrieking Incas gold upyield. And look! The Spanish Main runs red, The Spanish pirates' booty-field. (< Now note what horrors choice I have ; The Eastern Indies' story rare. The blazing hut, the ravished slave Define the Spaniard's fostering care. And, next, baptized with sister-name, The Western Isles present their ring, By Spanish crime, for Spanish shame, A record filled to festering! "And last I show thee, blackened star, Gem of the Antilles' coronet! Age, thou art shamed! Not peace, not war, Hath made the Spaniard human yet! Scourged prostrate with thy strangled cry, I, Death, have seemed thy friend of all! Despair not! In the darkening sky Justice and vengeance wait to fall ! }> E. Irenceus Stevenson. * * * WAR. WHAT worse you ask than ruthless war Sunk ships, stormed cities, states down-hurled- The thundrous hammer-strokes of Thor That crash the rock ribs of the world ? 32 WAR-TIME ECHOES What worse than horrid war ? Oh, cease The coward cry; is not the curse Of vile and ignominious peace Bought with the price of honor, worse ? What worse than war ? A sullied fame ; The scoff of heroes and the scorn Of history and song; the shame The taint corrupting sons unborn. Better is war than sordid gain Wrung from the servile; better far Than manhood lost and virtue slain, Is war, war, everlasting war! Alas! I, too, lament the woe That war must bring the blood, the tears: Yet Right, to vanquish Wrong, I know Must oft beat pruning hooks to spears. When fallen Liberty's sweet breast Throbs bare below the Spaniard's knife, Pause not to drool of worst or best First save the bleeding victim's life. Two strokes sublime Columbia's hand Hath dealt in war one stroke to save From foreign sway our native land, One stroke to free the negro slave. Now, once again, the great sword awes The despot flames o'er land and. sea A volunteer in Cuba's cause: Spain falls and Cuba rises free! Cincinnati Commercial- Tribune. PATRIOTIC POEMS 33 THE AWAKENING. WE HAVE dreamed, but the dream is ended; We are facing the world awake; And the Past and the Future blended Make true what the ages spake. 'Tis the love of a nation's glory That gleameth to-day as then, When the deeds of an epic story Were done by heroic men. Could we dream, with a people crying For aid from our mighty store; Could we dream, with a million dying Unfed at our very door ? Could we dream, while the sound of weeping, For heroes who fell betrayed, Was heard where the brave lay sleeping In graves that were newly made ? Nay, the shadows and visions vanish, 'Tis honor, not peace that we hold, While over the flag of the Spanish The flag of the free is unrolled. And this is the hour of the doing, And the end of it all is not yet; But even our love is renewing Of liberty lest we forget. From the Aetna. 34 WAR-TIME ECHOES A VOICE FROM THE WRECK OF THE "MAINE/ REMEMBER, remember the <( Maine, >} but not for cheap vengeance or hate, Because it is right that the patriot's might, with a purpose enduring and great, Should see and decree that all tyrants should be blotted out by the finger of fate. The stricken ship went to her doom, her braves to their death in the deep, While the hand of some coward set free the dread spark, making fatherless stricken ones weep. But the heart of a nation awoke to their woes, and its stern justice never shall sleep. From out the steel coffin thus made, the life of a people shall come The corpses of sailors protest, though to dull ears their pale lips be dumb And out from that silence of death came the throb of the stirring war drum. The steel of the once stately ship lies low, covered o'er by the sea, But the steel of the machetes shall flash, and their death-stroke make patriots free; Not vain was the wreck of the <( Maine, when Fate's forces awoke at its plea. PATRIOTIC POEMS 35 Each rivet which rusts is a bolt, a thunderbolt stir- ring the land, The wreck is a plea against wrong which the sea whispers low to the sand, Or thunders in anger and power, with the force of a curse or command. And our neighboring nation awoke from the ease of its prosperous dream The stars blazed anew on its flag, there was war in its eagle's shrill scream The thunder roared out from its guns, the lightnings flash where its swords gleam. No longer in selfish repose does the giant of liberty lie, On the shores of Fair Cuba to-day his beacons blaze up to the sky, Where minions of tyrants at bay were forced to do battle and die. And the few sons and daughters of toil whom famine and outrage have spared, And the warriors of freedom who there the might of the Spaniard had dared, Thanked God and took courage anew as Columbia her war sinews bared. So Liberty marches apace to her triumphs majestic and grand, The voices of heralds of hope ring high o'er the des- olate land, Glad-eyed in the dawn of the day the slaves of His- pania stand. 36 WAR-TIME ECHOES Where Dewey's guns bade foes begone from the isles of the Philippine Sea, Where West Indian fetters have clanked for ages their pitiful plea, In a voice wreathed with flame, God proclaims the stricken slaves yet shall be free. Remember the men on the (< Maine w ; but not for cheap vengeance or hate, Their death was a plea to which God, compassionate, loving, and great, Responded and bade us obey, His sons and His serv- ants of fate. /. Edgar Jones. * * * FLOOD THE GUN COTTON. <( FLOOD the gun cotton ! w Stern command, But sterner far the dire demand. <( Flood the gun cotton ! }> in voice clear, This the order three sailors hear, On the quiv'ring <( Maine. w Already one shock, echoing loud, Shook the vessel, majestic, proud; While parting beams, bursting sides, Open the gates to flooding tides, To the stricken -. ;;;_<.; PATRIOTIC POEMS. To obey that order, and go Down through the hatch, to certain woe, To death on the (< Maine. w (< Flood the gun cotton ! >} Will these three Obey the command, though it be Certain death in the vessel's hold ? Craven are they, or heroes bold, On the shattered <( Maine w ? See! See! Not a halt or a frown! With salute, and <( Aye, aye, sir!" down They speed to waiting doom, alack! For, sick'ning thought, not one came back From the sunken <( Maine. w (< Heroes ! you say? Yes, every one! Honors immortal each has won, By quick reply, without delay, And saving scores of lives that day From death on the "Maine." Would that the record kept on high, Such deeds heroic, such prompt reply To each command of God, might show, As marked those (< tars w who went below On the fated (< Maine w ! Chaplain D. R. Lowell, D.D. 38 WAR-TIME ECHOES NEMESIS. THE MAINE. SHE glided on her peaceful quest, What though her starry flag might bear To some a silent, stern behest, To some a breath of freedom's air; Then in her berth a stately guest Slept, trustful, in that alien lair. But what are bulkheads, fashioned well, And what are sides and decks of steel, Or cunning dialhands to tell, Through night and day, of woe or weal, When human hearts can league with hell And sow volcanoes 'neath a keel ? So by a deed whose blackness made The night it chose seem white beside, Struck in the dark by coward blade, The knightly (( Maine w leapt once and died A name to make a throne afraid, A wreck that moaned beneath the tide ! THE u OREGON. BUT o'er the land the tidings swept, And death-cries quivered through the wire Down in the hold the engines leapt, The coal sprang eager to the fire, PATRIOTIC POEMS 39 And never slacked and never slept The sister war ship's grim desire! With patient throbs that never wane A continent's long coast is won; That nearing death-smoke on the main Shall teach the lesson to the Don, That he who strikes a blow at (< Maine, * Shall reckon yet with (< Oregon w ! Ah! when her helm goes hard aport, And all her broadside speaks in fire, And from the proudly floating fort The cheers ring out with brave desire, That sound shall shake a trembling court And thrill Havana's sunken pyre! C. H. CrandalL * * * THE RUSH OF THE "OREGON. THEY held her south to Magellan's mouth, Then east they steered her, forth Through the farther gate of the crafty strait, And then they held her north. Six thousand miles to the Indian Isles! And the "Oregon" rushed home, Her wake a swirl of jade and pearl, Her bow a bend of foam. In the glimmered gloom of the engine room There was joy to each grimy soul, 40 WAR-TIME ECHOES And fainting men sprang up again And heaped the blazing coal. Good need was there to go wich care; But every sailor prayed Or gun for gun or six to one To meet them, unafraid. Her goal at last! With joyous blast She hailed the welcoming roar Of hungry sea wolves curved along The strong-hilled Cuban shore. Long nights went by. Her beamed eye Unwavering searched the bay Where, trapped and penned, for a certain end, The Spanish squadron lay. Out of the harbor a curl of smoke And a watchful gun rang clear, Out of the channel the squadron broke Like a bevy of frightened deer. Then there was shouting for (( steam, more steam, * And fires glowed white and red, And guns were manned and ranges planned, And the great ships leaped ahead. Then there was roaring of chorusing guns, Shatter of shell and spray, And who but the rushing (< Oregon w Was fiercest in chase and fray? For her mighty wake was a seething snake Her bow was a billow of foam; PATRIOTIC POEMS 41 Like the mailed fist of an angry wight Her shot drove crashing home. Pride of the Spanish navy, ho! Flee like a hounded beast! For the ship of the Northwest strikes a blow For the ship of the far Northeast. In quivering joy she surged ahead, Aflame with flashing bars, Till down sunk the Spaniard's gold and red And up ran the Clustered Stars. Desperate dash and daring rash Are grand in peace and war, But the calm, deep hate that can plan and wait, Is deadlier by far. Glory to share? Aye, and to spare; But the chiefest is hers by right Of a rush of fourteen thousand miles For the chance of a bitter fight. Arthur Gutter man in New York Times. * * * UNION JACK. ABOVE the peak of the ship it flies, Between the blue of the seas and skies; The sailor's pride, and the sailor's shroud. It sweeps the edge of the silver cloud, It feels the wing of the- albatross, The loop of the lightning's fiery floss, 42 WAR-TIME ECHOES And the ocean spray and the tempest rack Are caught in the folds of the Union Jack. The boy has turned from the lights of home To gaze away o'er the sheeted foam; Where the flag of the rover ripples dark From stately cruiser or saucy bark. His pulses thrill to the smell of tar, And the dip and the dance of a slender spar. Though the waves are sullen, and skies are black, He follows the stars of the Union Jack. In the freshening winds of the early morn, The sailor lad to the deck is borne ; Sewed in a sail for a winding sheet, With a cannon ball at the head and feet, And a murmured prayer from the captain's lip, He plunges down from the speeding ship To a coral grave in her shining track, With a pall and a shroud of the Union Jack. It is woven through with the pain and strife, The sorrows and joys of a sailor's life; Dark with the blue of the lonely deep, Bright with the stars that never sleep. The salty breath of the brine it holds; The smoke of battle has dimmed its folds, And around the seas of the world and back Glimmer the stars of the Union Jack. Minna Irving. PATRIOTIC POEMS 43 OLD GLORY. FLAG of a thousand battles, Beautiful flag of the free; Waving from lake to ocean, Waving from sea to sea; Outward and seaward ever, Daring the restless wave; Upward and skyward ever, Pride of the true and brave. i Old Glory, Old Glory, the world awaits thy story, Float on, float ever on, o'er land and sea, Old Glory, Old Glory, the world awaits thy story; Float on, float on, thou emblem of the free. Flag of a thousand battles, Cresting the billows of fire; Whelming established evils, Raising the lowly higher; Challenging ancient error, Silencing tyranny dumb, Gladdening and inspiring Hope for the years to come! 44 WAR-TIME: ECHOES Old Glory, Old Glory, the world awaits thy story; Float on, float ever on, o'er land and sea; Old Glory, Old Glory, the world awaits thy story; Float on, float on, thou emblem of the free. Iron quill. * * * SPAIN. A SCARRED old snarling lion, with scraggy, tattered mane, His claws and teeth all broken, lies the ancient realm of Spain; With the thirst for blood still on him, and still with hungry maw, He rends poor bleeding Cuba, prostrate there beneath his paw. He's a fierce and famed man-eater, and from early days of yore, Has ravaged many an island, wasted many a teem- ing shore, And the victims number millions whom his strength has overpowered, Whom with ravening, bloody slaughter he has man- gled and devoured; But his roar grows faint and hollow, and a hunter from the West Will snatch away fair Cuba, with her torn and bleed- ing breast, And send him howling, limping, reviled of gods and men, Back to growl, midst bones and darkness, in his mediaeval den. New York Tribune. PATRIOTIC POEMS 45 THE SMITHVILLE VOLUNTEER. THAT feller there who's sunburnt so ? You don't know him, you say. It's mighty evident, my friend, you jist arrived to-day. (< Corn Stalk's * the name he goes by, lives jist up the road a bit. That bandage 'round his arm? Why, there is where the Mauser hit. You want to git acquainted ? Well, I 'low that he won't keer. I'm rather proud, myself, to know the Smithville volunteer. Know him? Sence he wuz a kid the Smithville folks, you see, Ain't much on makin' when it comes to makin' his- tory. O' course, they're great on thinkin', and they wuzn't ary one But what knowed jist adzackly how the fightin' should be done, 'Cept "Corn Stalk he admitted that he didn't know or keer 'P'r'aps that is the reason why he's Smith ville's volunteer. No, didn't come o' fightin' stock his daddy alltis took To" "Cooir- dogs whefr he didn't he wuz baitin' . up a hook; -.^.; ;;->:/ 46 WAR-TIME ECHOES En <( Corn Stalk >} had a leetle hankerin' fer coon dogs, too; But it hadn't gone so fur, you see, that it had gone clean thro'. He jist stepped on the fast express the one that fetched you here En went up en enlisted ez the Smithville volun- teer. We kinder smiled about it we wuz there to see him start. The idee of him fightin' ! Why, there wuzn't ary part ()' fightin' in him tender-hearted cuss ez ever wuz. One day his folks went hungry fer a Sunday dinner, cuz He wouldn't kill the chicken so you see we didn't keer To lay claim to a hero in the Smithville volunteer. We had purt' nigh fergot him, 'till the news got spread aroun' That there wuz another hero that wuz born right here in town. No name wuz mentioned, but they said that he wuz tall en slim, En homely ez a worter dog we knowed that it wuz him. En when we heerd his hair wuz red, the fack wuz mighty clear, We knowed ez sure ez blazes 'twas the Smithville volunteer. ; PATRIOTIC POEMS 47 His arm? It's hangin' loose, you see he got that the fust day. Ez I said, a Mauser came along his arm wuz in the way. They ordered him to fall back to the rear, but nary fall; He jist jumped in the fightin' line a-leadin' of 'em all. They say the fellers kinder stopped their fightin' fur to cheer. That wuzn't bad, you understan', fer Smithville's volunteer. The smoke wuz all aroun' him up the hills in clouds o' blue. They knowed 'twuz him, cuz they could see his red hair gleamin' thro'. They seen him fightin' all alone, en that's jist why the air Along the fightin' line jist rolled with cheers a-ringin' there. Yes, that's him yer a-lookin' at the very same en we're A-bustin' out with honor fer the Smithville volun- teer. There wuz a lot o' fellers that fit jist ez brave that day; The country's loaded with 'em, ez I'm mighty proud to say. It wuzn't much but "Corn Stalk B well, we never thought that he Would start the fellers cheerin' didn't know him, you kin see. 48 WAR-TIME ECHOES You want to git acquainted? Well, I 'low that he won't keer, So come along en shake the han' o' Smith ville's volunteer. Edward Singer, in Cleveland Plain Dealer. * * * AN OLD WAR-HORSE. HE GITS roun' now on jest one peg Ter beat the very Ian'! Thank God, he's only got one leg They won't take my ol' man. (He lost that leg in our last war, But I could never tell whut fer!) I sets an' sees him hobblin' roun' They's sojers passin' through, An' (< Dixie 's wakin' up the town; An' Yankee Doodle/* too. I hears him holler : <( Hip, hooray ! * (Thank God, they can't take him away!) He seen his fightin' days; he went With Jackson an' with Lee; An' now he's come ter be content Ter set roun' home with me. He's lost one leg. That's gone fer shore Thank God, he'll never lose no more! But when the ban' plays (< Dixie w My ! It sets him wild ag'in! PATRIOTIC POEMS 49 He cheers the boys a-trompin* by, An* wants ter j'ine in! But I I sez: Come, that'll do! They don't want one : leg folks like you." So let 'em fight from left ter right All over sea an' Ian'; I thank the Lord by day an' night They won't take my ol' man! He's lost one leg. That's gone fer shore Thank God, he'll never lose no more! Atlanta Constitution. HUMORS OF WAR TIME. THE RECRUIT. DEY 'list me in de army, Dey marchin' me away; I gwine 'long ter Cuba Whar all de Spaniels stay. My chillun, don't you cry fer me My wife tu'n loose my han'! I gwine ter set de Cubans free I'm a sojer sojer man! My musket on my shoulder. My canteen by my side; I wish you ax de guvment Ter gimme a mule to ride! Frank L. Stanton. 50 WAR-TIME ECHOES A MOTHER'S OFFERING Go, AT thy country's call, Whatever gentle bonds may hold thee here, Whatever tender claims may seem more dear, Thy duty first of all. Go! And God guard thy way Through all the dangers of the night, Through pain and peril to the dawning light Of peaceful day. Go! Thy young heart is brave, Battle for right with all thy strength and will, Shouldst thou not triumph, thou at least can fill A soldier's grave. Go! If the cause be won, On the bright record free of stain or blot Thy name shall shine forever; but if not, God's will be done! Go! I can say adieu As gladly as a greeting home to thee, And look my last through smiles, if thou wilt be Firm, brave, and true. Go! my one child! my joy Unto his country for whatever fate, By these last tears, O Heaven! I consecrate My only boy! Madeline S. Bridges, in Leslie's Weekly. PATRIOTIC POEMS 51 THE RECRUIT'S SOLILOQUY. I REMEMBER, I remember, How I used to sit and scold When, on getting down to breakfast, I would find the coffee cold; How I used to turn my nose up If the steak was done too rare But, oh, for home and mother, And the dear old bill of fare. I remember, I remember, How I always would upbraid Myself for eating rarebits That my little sweetheart made! How I used to worry over My digestion night and day, And the pills I used to punish To drive fancied ills away. I remember, I remember, How I used to sit and scoff, When I fancied that the butter Must be just a little off"; How I scorned the lowly biscuits That my sister used to make ! And the things I said concerning Her attempts at jelly cake! Oh, it may be childish weakness That possesses me, but I Would give a whole month's wages For One piece of mother's pie, 52 WAR-TIME ECHOES And I think that I'd be willing To walk twenty miles to-day Just for one of those dear doughnuts That I used to throw away. Cleveland Leader. * * * RECRUITS. THE old disputes are passed away; But there are heroes still , As bold as they to seek the fray An' feel the battle thrill. Reprove their hungerin' for fame But own, when all is done, That boys of '98*5 the same As boys of '6 1. It ain't no use ter stan' an' chide, When war is in the air. You waste yer efforts to deride Their talk of bein' there. Remember, when ye sort o' blame The way their feelin's run, That boys of '98*5 the same As boys of '6 1. It makes ye sad ter see them chaps So eager fur a foe, 'Twould make ye sorryer, perhaps, If they were 'fraid ter go. Ye tell 'em war's a dang'rous game; That murder's in each gun But boys of '98*5 the same As boys of '6 1. ..., ..; ,..., ^Washington Star. PATRIOTIC POEMS 53 A SOLDIER'S HEART. WHERE is the heart of a soldier, His thought, his hope, and his dream, When the rifles ring and the bullets sing And the flashing sabres gleam ? Oh! not in the field of battle, But far and far away, His heart is living the old, old hopes, While his sword is red in the fray. Where is the heart of a soldier, And what do the bugles wake, And what does the roar of the cannon mean When the hills beneath them shake ? Oh! not for him the glory, And the dash and crash of war, But his heart is away on a mission gay Where they hear no cannon roar! And there is the heart of a soldier A little home on the hill, A white-faced woman, a little child, That stand by the window-sill; A little song and a little prayer, And a wonder in the face, And a (< God save papa and bring him back In the goodness of Thy grace ! w And there is the heart of a soldier Not on the field of fight, But steeped in the dream of a saddened home Where a window keeps its light, 54 WAR-TIME ECHOES That a soldier's feet may keep the path And his way may homeward lead, When under the flag of the freedom -land He has wrought the hero's deed. Yea, there is the heart of a soldier, Where wife and baby are. Though his eyes and his will may follow The light of the battle star; Though his hand may swing the sabre, And his bayonet charge the foe, The soldier's heart is away, away, In the home where they miss him so! Baltimore News. WHEN JOHNNY GETS HIS GUN. WHEN Uncle Sam calls out his boys To go and fight for him, They drop their books and tools and toys To get in fighting trim; They leave their farms to shoulder arms, From the shops and the streets they come, To the rat-tat-tat, and the rat-tat-tat, The beat of the rolling drum. With its Johnny get your gun, get your gun, gun, gun, gun; You, too, Johann, with your sword and your song, PATRIOTIC POEMS 55 Come along Jan, and you, Giovan', Jean and Ivan, come along, come along, Come along, come along, come along! From North and South and East and West, All of them boys in blue, They fight for the flag that they now love best, No matter what flag they knew; With a joyful shout they march away, Not as the driven dumb, Brothers in deed and in arms are they, As they follow the rolling drum. Each rat-tat-tat of the rolling beat Is a heart-beat all their own, They feel a music in their feet That they never yet have known; They walk in the air, and glittering there See medals and swords for some And never a soul in that clamorous roll Hears the beat of a muffled drum. For its Johnny get you gun, get your gun, gun, gun, gun, You, too, Johann with your sword and your song, Come along Jan, and you, Giovan', Jean and Ivan, come along, come along, Come along, come along, come along! John Paul Bocock, in the New York Sun. 56 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE MAKING OF A SOLDIER. JOE JERRY hoed in a stony field, Under a sweltering sun. The boy and the rock and the native weed Fought for the life in a battered seed, And the struggle was just begun. <( Get out of the mud and follow me, w Said the man with the better clothes. <( Against you are vermin and drought and frost ; You will anger nature with labor lost Come where a fair wind blows." But the boy digged on in the stony field, With the struggle barely begun. (< I put the seed in this ground," said he; <( I think I had better stay and see Whatever may be done." Joe Jerry quarried and placed the stones, And fitted the timbers true. Then his neighbors came, with fevered eyes; <( Gold pans of gold just there it lies! Shall we wait a day for you ?" A soft voice rifted the evening calm, Singing the death of day, A tired child came and went with a kiss; (< I have a wife and a home and this; I think I had better stay." PATRIOTIC POEMS 57 <( War! On to war! w and the cry came near <( There is honor, or fame, for all ! w (< I- have a dying wife and these ; I shall stay with them if God so please. w But he went at the second call. Come on ! they cried. It's death to wait ! His face was bleeding and grim; He picked a rifle out of the dirt And answered simply: "The captain's hurt, I think I'll stay with him." Frederick Brush, in the New York Sun. * * * GOD BLESS OUR GALLANT BOYS IN BLUE THEY'RE marching o'er the sunny land, They're sweeping o'er the surging sea, Our brothers true, as brave a band, As ever fought to make men free. Our own dear lads, so brave and true God bless our gallant boys in blue! Our hearts go with them, as they go, Our prayers to God for them arise, Our songs are choked for tears that flow, And blinded are our weeping eyes. Our own dear lads, so brave and true God bless our gallant boys in blue! O bless them in the dreary camp, So far away from friends and home. 58 WAR-TIME ECHOES O bless them on the weary tramp, Where e'er their wandering feet may roam, Our own dear lads, so brave and true God bless our gallant boys in blue! O bless them on the rolling wave, Speeding afar from native land, From dangers seen and unseen save, And bring them back a victor band. Our own dear lads, so brave and true God bless our gallant boys in blue! O guard them in the battle's storm, On bloody deck or gory field, O be Thou there to each loved form, O Lord, our God, their strength and shield. Our own dear lads, so brave and true God bless our gallant boys in blue! God bless the girls they've left behind, Our own dear girls, so sweet and true, Though out of sight ne'er out of mind, Of those who wear our warrior's blue. God bless our bonnie girls so true Who love our gallant boys in blue! God bless their mothers as they weep, Their lonely wives who watch and pray, Beside their blessed babes who sleep, And dream of dear ones far away, God bless them all, so brave and true Their dear ones and our boys in blue. H, H. Van Meter. PATRIOTIC POEMS 59 THE OLD SNARE DRUM. IT'S yourn, my boys, the yaller horn, ter toot it if you will; But give ter me the old snare drum ter lead the column still; Aye, bring the war-worn drumsticks back ter roll the reveille; Go fetch the fife, the same ole fife, the fife that used to be. An' while the breezes fan aloft the ole red, white and blue, Jes' make the footsteps young again with <( Yankee Doodle Doo! The same old drum that led the blue, the same that led the gray That sorter cheered us while it soothed the mother's tears away. Yer bugle may do jes' as well Ole Glory nod as neat Yet footsteps seem ter miss somethin' a marchin' down the street. The old feet sorter seem to lag, the head don't soar so high, An' som'ers in my bosom heaves a humsick kind o' sigh. Yer might's well call a petticoat the old red, white and blue, As toot a yaller whistle fer ole (< Yankee Doodle Doo. 60; WAR-TIME ECHOES Then give us back the ole-time drum our fathers used to beat, An* hear that voice o' freedom call our might an' manhood neat. An' when Ole Glory says (< Come on," ter write yer country's scroll, Jes' give us back the martial drum ter call the battle roll! Thar's somethin' 'bout the ole (< long roll * that sorter seems ter say: (< Columbia's got her eye on you her honor's yourn to-day ! An' when the final call of "taps," w lights out," fer me an' you, No bugle blare can softly roll the soldier's last tattoo. The soldier's last tattoo the van, the soldier's bier, The rifle song your only hymn, the muffled drum, the rear! Oh, gratitude! Vague butterfly! Yer hosts endure a day; Ter (< fold their tents like Arabs an' as lightly steal away ! " He heard the drummer's long tattoo, the column's tramp an' tread, Along the path that ends beside the trenches o* the dead! Then take yer yaller horn, my boys, an' toot it if yer will, But give ter me the ole snare drum ter lead the column still ! George E. Powell^ in Chicago Inter-Ocean. PATRIOTIC POEMS 6 1 OUR BONNIE BOYS IN BLUE. FAREWELL, brave boys in blue! Godspeed on your victorious way! While your beloved ones shall pray God guide and guard you every day, Our bonnie boys in blue! Our gallant boys in blue! We'll say farewell with smile and cheer; And you shall never know the tear That flows through all your absence dear, Oh, soldier laddies true! Oh, patriot boys in blue! Where'er you go, by land or sea, Beneath that banner of the free, There floats the flag of victory! Oh, dauntless boys in blue! Beloved boys in blue! We know that some may ne'er return; But yet our leal hearts proudly burn To see those faces set and stern With purpose firm and true. Ah, other boys in blue Who once marched down this city street Now resting in your winding sheet; For you two nations' war drums beat; Columbia fights for you! 62 WAR-TIME ECHOES Oh, martyred boys in blue! No freeman's blood e'er flows in vain, Columbia need not call again; (< Remember, boys, the gallant ( Maine ! > Her buried boys in blue ! w Columbia's boys in blue! Her banner waves above your head; And by its bars of white and red She swears the living, shrouds the dead: Columbia's freemen true! March on, brave boys in blue! That flag that floats o'er every street That flag has never known defeat! The God of Hosts guards patriot feet Beneath that banner true. Good-by, brave boys in blue: Good-by! that word so sadly sweet Means: <( God be with you till we meet! M Till home again we proudly greet Our brave, bronzed boys in blue! E. Dorsey Anderson, in New York Tribune. * * * THE BRAVE AT HOME. WE DO not send them all away Our bravest and our best When the battle cry is sounding And the eagle leaves its nest ; PATRIOTIC POEMS 63 There are brave battalions marching, And the heroes face the roar Of the guns that belch their lightning In the thunderstorm of war. But the brave hearts, true hearts, The hearts that wait at home For the news that tells of battle On the field or on the foam, Are the hearts that beat with courage And the hearts whose hoping thrives. Oh, the little lips of loving, And the sweethearts and the wives! When they march away to glory, When the flags above them wave, When the nation sends its greeting To the valiant and the brave, There are tender heroes waiting, There are brave ones left behind, As the bugle's note of sorrow Wafts its music on the wind. The brave hearts, true hearts, With nothing left to do But watch and wait and wonder Till the storm and strife are through; But their courage cheers the nation, And it crowns the tender lives Of the little lips of loving, And the sweethearts and the wives! 'Tis a woman's way to struggle In the silence of her grief; 64 WAR-TIME ECHOES Tis the child-heart's tender habit In her dreamland make-belief To behold the days with courage And to live throughout the night With a tender word of hoping For the breaking of the light. The brave hearts, true hearts, The soldier leaves to weep, As he takes the weary journey Down the valley o'er the deep, Are the hearts at home so gentle, Bound in sorrow's unseen gyves The little lips of loving, And the sweethearts and the wives! Ah, the little lips of loving, The little lips that be So ripe with red-rose laughter And so innocent with glee ! Ah, the hearts of sweethearts, hoping Till the dawn shall bring the light, The wives that wait the echoes From the fields where heroes fight 1 The brave hearts, true hearts, They are not all away For some are left to wonder And to watch afar the fray; And the heroes left behind, Noble hearts and. noble lives The little lips of loving, And the sweethearts and the wives! Baltimore News. PATRIOTIC POEMS 65 U. S. SPELLS US. MY PAPA'S all dressed tip to-day; He never looked so fine; I thought when I first looked at him My papa wasn't mine. He's got a beautiful new suit The old one was so old It's blue, with buttons oh, so bright, I guess they must be gold. And papa's sort o' glad and sort O' sad il wonder why; And ev'ry time she looks at him It makes my mamma cry. Who's Uncle Sam ? My papa says That he belongs to him; But papa's joking, 'cause he knows My uncle's name is Jim. My papa just belongs to me And mamma. And I guess The folks are blind who cannot see His buttons marked U. S. U. S. spells Us. He's ours and yet My mamma can't help cry, And papa tries to smile at me And can't I wonder why. 5 Anon. 66 WAR-TIME ECHOES AT THE FRONT. NOT the soldters only are at the front to-day, Not alone the boys in blue who face the stubborn foe, In the tent and in the charge, and on the weary way, There are unseen sentinels who watch with eyes aglow. Mothers who have sent their sons to battle for the right, Wives and sweethearts, all day long, whose throb- bing hearts are there, A host of loyal loving ones who help the gallant fight, By beating at the throne of God, with never-ceasing prayer. These may not thread the jungle, nor storm the frown- ing hill, They stand not in the rifle-pit, they man no sullen gun; But they are with the army, and with strength their pulses thrill, And theirs will be the victor's part, when once the strife is done. Standing for the old flag, standing firm for God, Standing for humanity, they meet the battle's brunt, These women, who for heartache, scarce can see the path they've trod, Since they kiss'd the lads they love so dear, and sent them to the front. Margaret E. Sangster. PATRIOTIC POEMS 67 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. HE OFFERED himself for the land he loved, But what shall we say of her ? He gave to his country a soldier's life; 'Twas dearer by far to the soldier's wife: All honor to-day to her! He went to the war while his blood was hot. But what shall we say of her ? He saw for himself through the battle's flame A hero's reward on the scroll of fame: What honor is due to her? He offered himself, but his wife did more, All honor to-day to her! For dearer than life was the gift she gave In giving the life she would die to save: What honor is due to her ? He gave up his life at his country's call, But what shall we say of her ? He offered himself as a sacrifice, But she is the one who pays the price: All honor we owe to her. Elliott Flower. * * * NORTHERN PINE TO SOUTHERN PAL- METTO. u GONE to the front, at their country's call, their young hearts proudly beating, <( Gone to the front, w your son and mine; dear friend, how time is fleeting! 68 WAR-TIME ECHOES We met, you and I, in the days gone by, as foes on the field of battle; We met and fought 'mid the cannon's roar and the rifle's deadly rattle. You ^wore the gray, and I, the blue ; and the strife was fierce and gory, Now, side by side, march our sons our pride 'neath Freedom's flag Old Glory. <( Gone to the front. w Not for revenge ; though hearts are bowed in sorrow For martyred braves 'neath the treacherous waves that roll by stern old Morro, <( Vengeance is mine; I will repay. w God's wrath is sometimes speedy He knoweth best; be thy our task, to help the poor and needy. We have borne too long this shameful wrong the whole world knows the story So side by side, with a patriot's pride, march our sons beneath Old Glory. <( Gone to the front. w Prepared for war; yet theirs is a peaceful mission. Our ears have heard, our eyes have seen poor Cuba's sad condition. We have heard the piteous, hungry cry for help from lips fast dying, And, comrade, by the God we love by the flag above us flying, We, too, if needs, will march to the front, though the pathway may be gory, For God and the right, with valor and might, we'll face the foe for Old Glory. Thomas Sullivan. PATRIOTIC POEMS 69 TWO VOICES. A SOUTHERN VOLUNTEER. YES, sir, I fought with Stonewall, And faced the fight with Lee; But if this here Union goes to war, Make one more gun for me! I didn't shrink from Sherman As he galloped to the sea; But if this here Union goes to war, Make one more gun for me! I was with 'em at Manassas The bully boys in gray; I heard the thunderers roarin' Round Stonewall Jackson's way, And many a time this sword of mine Has blazed the route for Lee; But if this old Nation goes to war, Make one more gun for me! I'm not so full o' fightin', Nor half so full o' fun, As I was back in the sixties When I shouldered my old gun; It may be that my hair is white Such things, you know, must be, But if this old Union's in for war, Make one more gun for me! I hain't forgot my raisin' Nor how, in sixty-two,. 70 WAR-TIME ECHOES Or thereabouts, with battle shouts I charged the Boys in Blue, And I say: I fought with Stonewall, And blazed the way for Lee; But if this old Union's in for war, Make one more gun for me! Atlanta Constitution. HIS NORTHERN BROTHER. JUST make it two, old fellow, I want to stand once more Beneath the old flag with you As in the days of yore Our fathers stood together And fought on land and sea The battles fierce that made us A nation of the free. I whipped you down at Vicksburg, You licked me at Bull Run; On many a field we struggled, When neither victory won. You wore the gray of Southland I wore the Northern blue: Like men we did our duty When screaming bullets flew. Four years we fought like devils, But when the war was done Your hand met mine in friendly clasp, Our two hearts beat as one. PATRIOTIC POEMS And now when danger threatens, No North, no South, we know, Once more we stand together To fight the common foe. My head, like yours, is frosty Old age is creeping on; Life's sun is lower sinking, My day will soon be gone, But if our country's honor Needs once again her son, I'm ready, too, old fellow So get another gun. Minneapolis Journal. * * * ONE BENEATH OLD GLORY. DON'T you hear the tramp of soldiers? Don't you hear the bugles play ? Don't you see the muskets flashing In the sunlight far away ? Don't you see the ground all trembling 'Neath the tread of many feet ? They are coming, tens of thousands, To the army and the fleet. They are Yankees, they are Johnnies, They're for North and South no more; They are one, and glad to follow When Old Glory goes before. From Atlantic to Pacific, From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, They are gath'ring round Old Glory And they're marching to the war. 72 WAR-TIME ECHOES Don't you see the harbors guarded By those bristling dogs of war? Don't you hear them growling, barking, At the fleet beyond the bar ? Don't you hear the Jack Tars cheering, Brave as sailor lads can be ? Don't you see the water boiling Where the squadrons put to sea ? They are Yankees, they are Johnnies, They're for North and South no more; They are one and glad to follow When Old Glory goes before. From Atlantic to Pacific, From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, They have gathered round Old Glory, And they're sailing to the war. Don't you hear the horses prancing ? Don't you hear the sabres clash ? Don't you hear the cannon roaring ? Don't you hear the musket crash ? Don't you smell the smoke of battle ? Oh, you'll wish that you had gone, When you hear the shouts and cheering For the boys who whipped the Don! There'll be Yankees, there'll be Johnnies, There'll be North and South no more, When the boys come marching homeward With Old Glory borne before. From Atlantic to Pacific, From the Pine Tree to Lone Star, They'll be one beneath Old Glory, After coming from the war. From Werner's Magazine. PATRIOTIC POEMS 73 BLUE AND GRAY ARE ONE. HURRAH for the North! Hurrah for the South! Hurrah for -the East and the West! The nation is one, undivided and free, And all of its sons are the best. Together the men of the whole blessed land Are firmly united in one mighty band, And they that were once the blue and the gray Are gathered beneath dear Old Glory to-day, With men on both sides in command. Then march, boys, march; we'll set fair Cuba free! March, boys, march! with Miles and Fitzhugh Lee, Forward all the line! and be your song's refrain: w America for freemen, and break the grip of Spain ! w Hurrah for the blue! Hurrah for the gray! Hurrah for the sons of them all! Together we come and united we stand, To answer humanity's call; Freemen arising, to dash down the foe; Blue and gray dealing him death at each blow; Mingling a host from the North and the South, 'Neath the same banner, and from every mouth One battle cry, <( Freedom ! w shall go. Hurrah for the guns! Hurrah for the ships! Hurrah for the flag of the stars! Hurrah for the men who fought under that! Or under the stars and the bars! They're rallying now, brave, ardent, and strong, To punish injustice and overthrow wrong; 74 WAR-TIME ECHOES Columbia rises and leads in the fight, Her sons to do battle for honor and right. And they're singing America's song. William Lightfoot Visscher, in Chicago Times-Herald. * * * WAR SCARS ARE HEALED. ACROSS the battlefield to-day I walk Where flowers nod and birds harmonious sing, Where peaceful leaves in loving whispers talk, And butterflies disport on brilliant wing; The scented breeze is laden deep with balm, And smiling skies bend o'er me still and calm. What stranger, knowing not of warring days, Would think this vale was once with cannon rent, While armed men fiercely trod these grassy ways And trees beneath the iron tempests bent; That thunder born of hate here madly crashed, And war's red lightnings here in fury flashed ? The sky was canopied with smoke o'erhead, The flowers with redder hues than now were wet, Brave men fell 'neath the hail of hurtling lead And crimsoned steel in hearts of brethren met; While men by thousands, writhing, fought and fell Amid the horrors of an awful hell. Thank God that all those bloody scenes are o'er, That bees and birds now here together play, That brothers shall slay brothers thus no more, Nor hate reap harvests here of blue and gray; PATRIOTIC POEMS 75 Blood-brotherhood decrees that strife shall cease, And love enthroned proclaims the reign of peace. Bloom, flowers, and offer incense o'er these graves; Wave, starry flag, no more o'er ebon slaves; Nor on red fields o'er which war's tempest raves. Henceforth when foreign foes appear in view, Our flag finds North and South defenders true, The men in gray joined with the men in blue. I. Edgar Jones. * * * DIXIE AND YANKEE DOODLE. I WAS born 'way down in <( Dixie," Reared beneath the Southern skies, And they didn't have to teach me Every <( Yankee w to despise. I was but a country youngster When I donned a suit of gray, When I shouldered my old musket, And marched forth the (< Yanks to slay Four long years I fought and suffered, <( Dixie }> was my battle cry ; (< Dixie w always and forever, Down in (< Dixie w let me die. And to-night I'm down in "Dixie," "Dixie" still so grand and true; But to-night I am appareled In a uniform of blue. 76 WAR-TIME ECHOES And to-night the band is playing; 'Tis not (< Dixie's w strains I hear, But the strains of Yankee Doodle Ring out strong and clear. Long I listen to the music; By my side a comrade stands; He's a Yank and I'm a Rebel, But we grasp each other's hands. Here together we united 'Way down South in <( Dixie * stand, And my comrade whispers softly, <( There's no land like ( Dixie's land.*" But my eyes are filled with teardrops, Tears that make my heart feel glad; And I whisper to my comrade: < Yankee Doodle > ain't so bad. Lawrence Porcher Hext. * * * TOGETHER. I TELL you, this here country she's gittin' whar she'll do, When the Northern bands play (< Dixie," an* the peo- ple cheer it, too! We're mighty clost together when they mix the mu- sic so An' yet, we wuz divided some thirty year ago! PATRIOTIC POEMS 77 I tell you, this here country jest take us, land an' sea Is 'bout as nigh united as the Lord 'ud have it be! We're marchin' on together through summer time an' snow We that wuz so divided some thirty year ago. Together! That's the music that's ringin' to the sky That's what the winds is singin' as they blow the blossoms by; Together! Hear the bands play, an' all the bugles blow We that was so divided some thirty year ago. Together! Sing it ring it! Send the music ripplin' long, Till the whole world hears the echoes of the swellin* tide of song! Till the whole world jines the chorus bands play an' bugles blow! We that was so divided some thirty year ago. Frank L. Stanton, in Leslie's Weekly. * * * CHANT OF THE NEW UNION. BLOOD of the North To the Blood of the South Are we the same blood ? Though in strife parted born of one mother; Now, as the forge-fires flame o'er the land; 78 WAR-TIME ECHOES Wake in a new love brother to brother; Lift we a loving-cup, hand clasped in hand. Draining the same draught, though it be red; Shouting the same cry, wherever led, Drink to our Union! Yes Now the same blood! Heart of the North To the Heart of the South Beat we the same heart ? In thirst and hunger, at the same altar, Knead we the bread, to break with our wine. Kneel we together, chanting our psalter; Rise we together, freedom our sign. All of our heroes look down from heaven, Where our blood runs their blessing is given. Sons of the Union! Yes Now the same heart! Sword of the North To the Sword of the South Lift we the same sword ? Thrust in our hands for the vengeance of God. Clasp we its hafts in the battles of Right, Where Murder and Famine and Rapine have trod, We lift to annihilate righteous our might. Wave we on high, heaven kissing the brand That its gleam may be seen in a faint, stricken land. Strike for our Union! Yes Now the same sword! PATRIOTIC POEMS 79 Flag of the North To the Flag of the South Float we the same flag? Hallowed star-spangled one, calm, pure, and regal, Lead us to reap where the harvest is sown. Follow the scream of our cloud-circling eagle, Burst from its cage, its war-pinions new-grown, Spread and unfurl to tell victory's story, Symbol of justice, symbol of glory, Wave for the Union! Yes Now the same flag! Prayer of the North To the Prayer of the South Breathe we the same prayer ? Death to oppression succor to pain E'en through our vows shrill shrieks fill the air; Rise! that they may not our hearts rive again. Sheathe not! but strike for a nation's despair! Lift the sword-cross as once God's soldiers prayed, Pray as the Knights of a holy Crusade. Pray for our Union! Yes Now the same prayer. Edmund Russell. * * * THE STREAM O' FREEDOM. DON'T dam the stream o' Freedom in this Western Hemisphere ! It comes rollin' down the ages till by this it's gettin' clear 8o WAR-TIME ECHOES Thet the tide thet's sweepin' on'ard, red with many a martyr's blood Can't be stopped, and them thet tries it ull perish in the flood. Don't dam the stream o' Freedom it's bound ter make its way Where the foot of God shall turn it, usherin' in a brighter day, Till the desert place shall flourish an' blossom as the rose, An' the land o' desolation spring to verdure where it flows. Don't dam the stream o' Freedom yer might ez well set out To stop the rain from fallin' by prophesyin' drought; Yer can't put out the sunshine by blindin' yer own eyes, An' ez fer keepin' summer back, don't try it if yer wise. Don't dam the stream o' Freedom in this Western Hemisphere ! It ain't no ole-world rivulet thet's thawed out wunst a year; It's a tidal wave of promise thet the angels push along, Bearin' life upon it's bosom, bearin' doom to ancient wrong. Amzi Tibbals, in New York Mail and Express. PATRIOTIC POEMS 81 THE AMERICAN SONG. WHAT song shall America sing, Young heir of the elder world, Whose knee ne'er bent to tyrant king, Whose banner defeat ne'er furled ? A song for the brave and the free, No echo of antique rhyme, But a shout of hope for the day to be, The light of the coming time. From the dark lowlands of the past, Swelling loud o'er the victim's cries, The hero's shout sweeps up the blast Where wounded freedom dies. The drum's dull beat and the trumpet's blare From the far-off years are heard; But the paean of kings is man's despair, And the hope of the world deferred. 'Tis the song of the free we sing; Of the good time not yet born, W T here each man of himself is king, Of a day whose gladsome morn Shall see the earth beneath our feet, And a fair sky overhead; When those now sad shall find life sweet, And none shall hunger for bread. Sing then our American song! 'Tis no boast of triumphs won At the price of another's wrong, Or of foul deeds foully done. 6 82' WAR-TIME ECHOES We fight for the wide world's right, To enlarge life's scope and plan, To flood the earth with hope and light, To build the kingdom of man! M. J. Savage. * * * THE NEW IMPERIALISM. Give us new seas to sail! the cry is, give us new seas to sail! New seas to sail, be they never so mad, and we ship in the teeth of the gale ; For the old seas pall on our souls like death, their deeps and their tides we know ; The slope of the continents under the brine, and the black ooze-beds below." Song of New Seas. ADVANCED, on the deep and tremendous seas, our flag, imperial, flies Over far-off lands, where the stars look down from the antipodean skies; Our colors are up, and the conquering blood of the race is aroused, at last; The nation awakes with quick answering heart to the sound of the trumpet's blast. We have broken, at last, from the fettering past, the sequestered and gold-rimmed years, From the slothful lease of a soulless peace and the net of our selfish fears. We are out of the swaddling clouts, thank God, and into the shining mail, We have taken our place in the van of the race; we have found new seas to sail! PATRIOTIC POEMS 83 It's greater America greater in hope, and greater in heart and mind, America fronting the threatening world in the cause of oppressed mankind; America, slow in wrath, but firm in defense of the rights of men, With her own strong hands she will anchor the lands by the plan of a larger ken. Let us not be deceived, 'we shall not be reprieved, the long battle must be sustained; It's the eagle, alone, with the crag for throne, it's a fight till the field be gained. We must arm and be strong for the righting of wrong, we must bring not woe, but weal; And we want no drones while we buckle the zones of the earth with our own good steel. On the Eastern sea, on the ocean West, the shelter- ing wings shall spread, And the bristling crest will defend the nest, and the growing brood be fed; The strong beak, fierce the eyes that pierce they were made for days like these; When the talons, bold, let go their hold, it will be when the bird shall please. By sea and crag, where'er our flag, victorious, be un- furled, It shall stay, if we say, till the judgment day, in spite of the snarling world. And the wheel will roll to the destined goal of the glorious years that wait; We will never turn back from the shining track of the heralding stars of fate 84 WAR-TIME ECHOES Each rich wrecked age is a warning page, let our wisdom ponder it well, For strewn with the dust of the thrones unjust is the easy slope of hell. With the lesson well learned, with tyranny spurned, with the world and the future to face, Our measure of might is the cause of right and the blood of the Saxon race. We have broken, at last, from the shackling past, we have done with the dawdling years, With the slothful lease of a selfish peace, the nurse of a weakling's fears; We are out of the swaddling clouts, and now, we are into the woven mail, In the van of the race, and, by God's good grace, we have got new seas to sail. Robert Burns Wilson. * * * OLD GLORY. WE HAVE heard the battle bugle break the silence of the night, We have seen the battle columns in the tempest of the fight, And beheld Old Glory shining with its stars of morning light, While Freedom marched along. CHORUS Glory, glory, hallelujah, Glory, glor^ hallelujah, -, glory, hallelujah, P/eedom is marching on. PATRIOTIC POEMS 85 We have seen our country battle when the North and South were foes, We have seen heroic struggles 'twixt the battle's dawn and close, But that day of fatal warfare dims into a deep repose, And Freedom marches on. We have lived to see Old Glory float its stars from strand to strand, And have seen it wave in triumph o'er the Spaniards' conquered land, And the South and North are vanished, for Ameri- cans we stand; And Freedom marches on. Under Stripes and Stars we're marching to the free- ing of the world; And for Freedom, fleets and navies into battles thick are hurled; And the dear folds of Old Glory to the world's winds are unfurled, While Freedom marches on. Rev. William A. Quayle, D. D. * * * HAIL OUR GLORIOUS BANNER. ALL hail the glorious banner; fit emblem of the free, Proudly floating in the light of the bright morn- ing sun; It bears a welcome message, far over land and sea, Of charity for all, and malice toward none. 86 WAR-TIME ECHOES Beneath its folds we fear not, 'though hostile cannon roar, For the liberty we prize our father's valor won, And we this priceless heritage will hold, for evermore, With charity for all, and malice toward none. One nation we, from sea to sea; one hope, one tongue, one law. And before us lies a duty, we cannot dare not shun ; To loose the bands of tyranny; for this the sword we draw r , . With charity for all, and malice toward none. If other nations, rashly, shall dare to intervene, They will find us ready for them; man for man and gun for gun; We stand for right and freedom; hearts undaunted; weapons keen. With charity for all, and malice toward none. We hold one purpose, steadfast, sure; this war shall never cease Till Cuba's isle shall Freedom know: but, when our task is done, With joy we'll crown our battle flags with garland wreaths of peace, With charity for all, and malice toward none. Then hail our starry banner, forever floating free; With its colors bathed in glory by the bright morning sun While the breezes bear its message, far over land and sea, Of charity for all, and malice toward none. Thomas Sullivan. PATRIOTIC POEMS 87 THE HERO OF MANILA. GOD of our country, Thee we sing: We thank Thee for the mighty day Which saw the fall of Cavite: Our humble gratitude we bring. Thy lavish hand we praised and knew, So laid our trust in Heav'n; But this, Thy latest bounty giv'n, Hath made our trustful hearts more true. Up with the dawn our lads arose And breathed two thousand pray'rs to Thee. For Dewey, Ho'me, and Victory, A man could fight a hundred foes. Over the hidden hell beneath The squadron came and filled the bay. That the devil might have his lawful pay And the lamb be saved from the jackal's teeth. And he who rode the Eastern main, Nor paused the Why or How to ask, Dewey, our son, knew duty's task And loosed the awful flaming rain. Then burst the proud foe's swollen pride; His vanquished fleet beneath the wave, His fort a silent gaping grave Remorse was born: Resistance died. In sleeping Asia's spreading sea, On that great morn of May's first day, Boomed the loud note at Cavite That hailed an infant Liberty. SB WAR-TIME ECHOES God of our country, God of the world, Our pray'r, that we may work Thy plan And do Thy will toward Asian man The cause Thy cause, our flag unfurled. Anon. * * * A SONG FOR OUR FLEETS. A SONG for our fleets our iron fleets Of grim and savage beauty, That plow their way through fields of spray, To follow a nation's duty! The winds may blow and the waves may flow And stars may hide their faces, But little we reck; our stars o'er deck Still glitter within their places! Let never a one who gazes on This pageant calm but splendid Doubt that our coasts from hostile hosts Will gallantly be defended! A desperate foe may wish us woe; But what is their petty knavery Against the right, when backed with might, And Anglo-Saxon bravery ? A song for our fleets our gallant fleets, 'Neath flags of glory flying, That carry the aid, so long delayed, To those that are crushed and dying! And flames may glow, and blood may flow; But still, with a stern endeavor. We'll rule the main, and lash foul Spain From our Western World forever! Will Carleton. PATRIOTIC POEMS. 89 OFF TO SEA! OUR ships have put to sea. And to windward and to lee The old flag is flying, flying, flying; And it ripples its red bars And the glory of its stars Where the spirits of the stormy deep are crying: On to the fight! Let the stars of Freedom light The land beneath the tyrant's banner gory; Till every tyrant flag Is a torn and trampled rag, And alone in the sunlight waves ( Old Glory ! } w Our ships have put to sea, And the light of Liberty Dawns o'er a people sad and dying; The chains of thralldom break, And the thrones of tyrants shake, While the spirits of the stormy deep are crying: <( Fare ye to the fight! Let the stars of Freedom light The land beneath the tyrant's banner gory, Till every tyrant flag Is a torn and trampled rag, And alone in the sunlight waves ( Old Glory ! > w Atlanta Constitution. 90 WAR-TIME ECHOES DEWEY. WHY do we put Dewey Above all the rest ? Of all the war's heroes Why is he the best? We hear Dewey's name, And our breasts are aflame, With love for the grizzled old tar- Why is Dewey enshrined In the heart and the mind, As Lincoln and Washington are Why do we put Dewey Above all the the rest ? Of all the war's heroes Why is he the best? When the ' tocsin was sounded And the war god awoke, When the bonds that had held us As men of peace broke, When others rushed hither And thither, at sea, When other men argued In war councils, he, With a calmness supernal, And a course that was plain, Weighed anchor and started Across the blue main; He stayed not for parley, Nor waited nor planned For conditions to favor The project in hand PATRIOTIC POEMS 91 As the arrow flies unto its mark he set out, Unhindered by fear and a stranger to doubt. Is there fear in the lion That has scented his prey ? Does he linger for dangers Concealed by the way ? Does he hunt for clear pathways To lead him* around The rocks that before him Incumber the ground ? Does he crouch in some corner And warily wait, Intrusting his chances To favors of fate ? Nay, the lion has none of the cunning that brings The fawn 'neath the limb where the sleek tiger swings. E'en as a lion the grim hero went To the spot where Spain's weapons lie blackened and bent; He stayed not for danger, nor favoring tide; Nor thought of the snares perhaps hidden in- side He entered and struck down the foe in his lair, And set up the standard of liberty there! And when it was done when the world stood in awe, Still grasping the sword, he propounded the law; He invited no cheers, nor indulged in high boasts, But silently sat as a new lord of hosts With a simpleness such as God gives but to those Too big to be swayed by the world's petty woes. 92 WAR-TIME ECHOES He marked out his lines, and men saw where the}" lay, Nor sought to cross over, nor questioned his sway; Each word that he spoke was the word that was meet ; Each act he essayed when he stayed was com- plete The mazes that lay all around him he trod As only he may who is led by his God. And so we put Dewey Above all the rest Of all the war's heroes, Proclaiming" him best; We hear Dewey's name And our breasts are aflame With love for the grizzled old tar; We have got him enshrined In each heart and each mind As Lincoln and Washington are Straightforward and simple above all the rest, With a grandeur that touches the lowliest breast. S. E. Ktser, in Cleveland Leader. * * * GUAM. AN AGE of wonders dawned on Guam, Beneath the touch of Uncle Sam! A time of restlessness and light To take the place of peace and night! PATRIOTIC POEMS 93 Ah, Guam, asleep upon the ocean's breast, Lulled by the soft Pacific into rest, Unending as the sea is, and as still, Why need you wake to wonders and to ill? You are so very little, Guam, that you Are but a misty speck upon the blue Infinity of earth, and Guam, Although 'tis well to be of Uncle Sam, That is not all of peacefulness nor rest, As you have known them on the gentle breast Of your Pacific, where through all the years You never knew our world of hopes and fears. Ah, dear, delicious, distant, doleless isle, Asleep for ages where those soft skies smile, How rude would your awakening be Roused by a new world's energy! Ah, gentle Guam, keep shut those eyes of yours, Care not for what is not upon your shores; You are so little, Guam, away so far, The busy world might leave you as you are. An age of wonders, sorrows, cares, In which each state and nation shares! They call it dawn. Guam, is such light A greater blessing than your night? It may be, Guam; or if it be or not, What harm can be, if only one small spot On all the earth is left still unoppressed, Where man may stop and breathe and rest ? //-'. y. Lamp ton, in the New York Sun. 94 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE HERO DOWN BELOW. WHILE you sing of Schley and Hobson, And of gallant Dewey, too, While with thoughts of them your hearts are all aglow, I would sing you of another Just as brave and just as true Of the man who does the stoking down below. For his home is in the hell, Down below, And he doesn't hear the yell, Down below, That goes up when firing's done, When the ship he's with has won He must keep a-shoveling on Down below. Though his name is never mentioned, Though we see or know him not, Though his deeds may never bring him worldly fame, He's a man above the others And the bravest of the lot And the hero of the battle, just the same. He's the man who does the work, Down below, From the labor does not shirk, Down below, He is shoveling day and night, Feeding flames a-blazing bright. PATRIOTIC POEMS 95 Keeping up a killing fight, Down below. In the awful heat and torture Of the fires that leap and dance In and out the furnace doors that never close, On in silence he must work, For with him there's ne'er a chance On his brow to feel the outer breeze that blows. For they've locked him in a room, Down below, In a burning, blazing tomb, Down below, Where he cannot see the sky, Cannot learn in time to fly, When destruction stalketh nigh, Down below. While the fighting fierce is waging, And the cannon overhead With their sizzling shells the enemy surround, To the stoker down below, Not a word is ever said, To his ear is borne no echo of a sound. When they open wide his door, Down below, And they cry, (< Your work is o'er, Down below ! w There they find him weakly lying On a pile of coal and crying Out in madness, for he's dying, Down below. Chicago Times-Herald. 96 WAR-TIME ECHOES HOL' DEM PHILUPPINES. MISTAH DEWEY, yo's all right, Hoi' dem Philuppines! Made yo' point an' won yo' fight, Hoi' dem Philuppines! If dem natives get too gay Make dem walk the Spanish way; Show dem dat yo's come to say, Hoi* dem Philuppines! Doctah Dewey, doan' yo' care, Hoi' dem Philuppines! Let dat German ge'man swear, Hoi' dem Philuppines! Reckon dat yo' saw dem first, Just yo' say to Wienerwurst: <( Come en take dem, if yo' durst ! Hoi' dem Philuppines! Fesser Dewey, you is wa'am, Hoi' dem Philuppines! Reckon yo' can ride de storm, Hoi' dem Philuppines! Tell him dat yo' will not grieve If old Diederichs should leave Keep dat razar up your sleeve, Hoi' dem Philuppines! A'm'al Dewey, watch yo' kyards, Hoi' dem Philuppines! Folks all sen' yo' best regyards, Hoi' dem Philuppines! PATRIOTIC POEMS 97 Make dem fo'iners lay low, If dey 'sist to pester so, Make dem take dah clothes and go, Hoi' dem Philuppines! George V. Hobart, in Baltimore Nevus. * * * THE SHELL. I'M THE shell, the thirteen inch, Of the kind that never flinch, Never slacken, never sway, When the quarry blocks the way. Silent in the belted breech, Peering thro' the rifled reach, Waiting, while I scan the sea, For a word to set me free. As my eager eyes I strain, Heaves in view a ship of Spain. Hark! the wild alarums ring, As the men to quarters spring; Then the word of sharp command, On the lanyard rests a hand. Fire ! From out the rifled core, On the cannon's breath I soar. Twice five hundred pounds of steel, Where on high the eagles reel; For my mark the nearing foe Messenger of death I go! 98 WAR-TIME ECHOES Hark! the shriek of unleashed hell! Tis the speech of shell to shell: Brother, shall I kill or spare ? "Mark the faces blanching there !* Brother, shall I strike or swerve ? (< Death to them that death deserve ! Mark the vessel onward come ! * Mark the thirteen inch strike home. Crash! I feel the steel-clad ship Split and stagger, rend and rip; Then a shriek and then a hush, As the dark'ning waters rush Thro' the torn and gaping side Of the foeman's hope and pride. To the bottom of the sea Go a thousand lives with me! I'm the shell, the thirteen inch, Of the kind that never flinch, Never slacken, never sway, When the quarry blocks the way. Gustav Kobbt, in Munsey 's Magazine. * * * THE FARMER'S BOYS. I OWN I'm rather lonely, for my help has gone away, The harvest time is over, and cut is all the hay; And I long to get the papers, but I fear to see them come, For Tom and Jack are fighting to the music of the drum. PATRIOTIC POEMS 99 The boys are patriotic, like their father long ago, When he heard the call of Lincoln and went for to meet the foe; And when they came to me and said that they were young and strong, I told my wife I knew the farm would never hold them long. There's Jack; he has his mother's eyes, his face is round and fair, He has his mother's gentle ways, her soft and silky hair; And Tom; they say he looks like me, raw-boned, and tanned and stout, The kind of boys, the captain says, to storm the strong redoubt. I saw the thing a- brewing, but I had no word to say, The boys grew restless, for they read the papers every day; And when the call for men was made they hurried down the lane, And in the village joined the boys who'll ne'er <( for- get the < Maine. > My wife and I together sit when all the work is done, And watch the hills in silence as they redden 'neath the sun; She knows that I am thinking of the boys we've sent afar, And she is praying silently for peace to end the war. They'll never shirk their duty; Tom and Jack are true as steel; Before their might, I'm proud to say, the Spanish foe will reel; loo WAR-TIME ECHOES What tales will Jack bring back with him from re- gions far away, And Tom will tell of fighting down by Santiago Bay ! Old Glory will not blush for them, they'll nobly wear the blue; They won't disgrace the Buckeye farm; to country both are true. I told them when they started, as I held their hands in mine, That I was once a soldier in the grand old Union line. When I lead the horses homeward through the brac- ing twilight air, I see two boys in uniform, heroic, tall and fair, And one looks like his mother when I wooed her long ago, And the other's like his father, with his curious ways, you know. It seems they're with me all the time, but 'yet they are afar; Upon their bayonets doth fall the light of tropic star. They know the old farm misses them, no matter where they roam, And every night I know they think of mother's face and home We pray together, wife and I, we kneel before the throne, And ask the Father's care for those so dear to us alone ; May we hear from lips we long to kiss, though now they're far away, The story of Manila and of Santiago Bay. T. C. Harbaugh, in Ohio Farmer. PATRIOTIC POSMS/, -I":*: -|: J^di: ; \ THE BAND PLAYED ON. (As the Californians, under Colonel Smith, came up the beach, their band played the national air, accompanied by the whistling of Mauser bullets, and during the sharpshooting continued to encourage the men with inspir- ing music. Dispatch from Manila.} <( FORWARD ! w the Colonel sharply said. With eager eye and steady tread They crossed the strip of shining sand In rhythm with their pulsing band. Up from the bay the great guns roared, High o'er their heads the swift shells soared, But true and steady rose the drum Above the battle's growing hum, And wild and strident shrilled the horn, As if it shrieked in loyal scorn. The bullets whistled o'er the strand; A crimson stain was on the sand. <( Fire ! w shrieked the colonel, and a roar Went booming down Manila's shore. And while its echoes died away, The fearless band in steady play, As on parade, so calm, so free, Poured forth the song of freedom's key. It roused those dauntless Yankee hearts; They felt the thrill the song imparts, In rhythm with the horn and drum, Each lip the dear old words did hum. They fought like brave men, good and true, They pressed ahead where bullets flew, And till they'd conquered every don The band played on. Cleveland Plain Dealer, WAR-TIME ECHOES TO THE POWERS. From "Harper's Weekly." Copyright, 1898 Harper & Brothers. WHAT shall we do with the Philippines? Well, Europe, peep behind the scenes, And what you see tell your marines. Our plans, of course, are not complete; Won't be till Merritt takes his seat, Backed up by Army and by Fleet. That done, we'll choose the fairest spots, Divide 'em up in city plots, And sell 'em off as corner lots. And where the Spanish foe now loots, Mayhap you'll find some substitutes, Like vaudeville and chuting chutes. And possibly we'll take those Isles, Whereon sweet peace so rarely smiles, And give them to our men of wiles. To Croker one, and one to Platt, And one to Bryan men like that So that ive'll know just where they're at. But one thing's fixed as any star: We will not move those Islands far, But let them stay just where they are. We hope, dear Concert, great and square, This answer strikes you as most fair. If not, why well, old Dewey's there. John Kendrick Bangs. PATRIOTIC POEMS 103 THE FLAG. INSCRIBED TO ADMIRAL DEWEY, TUNE: LAURIGER." ROLL a river wide and strong, Like the tides a-swinging, Lift the joyful floods of song, Set the mountains ringing. Run the lovely banner high, Crimson morning-glory! Field as blue as yonder sky, Every star a story. Let the people, heart and lip, Hail the gleaming splendor! Let the guns from shore and ship Acclamation render! All ye oceans, clap your hands! Echo plains and highlands, Speed the voice thro' all the lands To the Orient islands. Darling flag of Liberty! Law and love revealing, All the downcast turn to thee, For thy help appealing. In the front for human right, Flash thy stars of morning. All that hates and hides the light, Flies before thy warning. By the colors of the day, By the breasts that wear them, 104 WAR-TIME ECHOES To the living God we pray For the brave that bear them! Run the rippling banner high; Peace or war the weather, Cheers or tears, we'll live or die Under it together. M. IV. Stryker, in the Interior, * * * OL' PECOS BILL, OR GENERAL WILLIAM SHAFTER. DON'T hardly reckon there ever was a tougher ol' soldier pill, In any way that you'd size him up, than that same ol' Pecos Bill, Fur to handle the reds when they showed their teeth, an' the whites that laughed at the law. A great big man with a great big heart, an' the proper sand in his craw. I knowed the ol' bunch o' scrap fur years in the State o' the Single Star, I've camped with him on the scoutin' trail when the Injuns was huntin' war, I've bin with him in the frontier fort an' out in the huntin' camp, An' I'm free to say as a thorrerbred, ol' Bill was the proper stamp. PATRIOTIC POEMS 105 As fur as bein' a Christian goes, a saint o' the pious brand, An' sich like racket, he never held a winnin' trump in his hand; That wasn't ol' Gin'ral Shafter's style, he wa'n't o' the pray in' kind, But all the same at the trumpet call he'll never be left behind. I've heerd him sw'ar till the air'd pop, and the breezes 'd spit red fire, An' reel off talk o' the snappy sort that ol' Beelze- bub 'd admire, But all the same his ol' hostile heart was as soft as the heart of a kid, When want an' misery caught his eye, which the same it frequently did. His creed war' justice to high an' low, his Bible the Golden .Rule, I reckon his boy pants never warmed a seat in a Sunday-school, An' he never worried the Lord, I know, by recitin' a chestnut prayer That died afore it war' half way up on the trail through the Texas air; But I've a bundle o' cash that says he stands jes' as good a chance O' heaven as some that bore the Chief with a powerful song and dance. An' when he's called from the service here to the camp in the better land, He'll hold the rank that he won by worth, if he don't wear the pious brand. 106 WAR-TIME ECHOES When ol' Bill come to the Texas land the Pecos war' overrun With the toughest outfit o' desperate men that ever handled a gun, An' the Injuns hankered fur paleface ha'r, an swarmed through the hills an' dells, A rippin' the echoes all to strings with their devil- invented yells. Jes' go an' look at that valley now, with its oceans o' golden grain, An' its homes o' peace upon every hand, an' its cat- tle on every plain, An' you'll say that it duplicates Gloryland, the king- dom on Zion's hill, An' who's responsible fur the change ? I reckon it's Pecos Bill. I allus said if a war 'd come an' they'd give the ol' man a chance, He'd lead the foes o' the Glory flag the liveliest sort of a dance, An* when I war' readin' the other day of his work on the Cuby shore, I ripped a streak in the Texas air with a firmament - shakin' roar! I danced the Apache victory dance, an' whooped like a painted brave, At the way his Texican cowboy lads fixed Spaniards in shape fur the grave. An* I filled my system cl'ar to the neck with the snappiest sort o' swill, In visible honor o' Uncle Sam an' his pardner, ol' Pecos Bill. The Denver Poet. PATRIOTIC POEMS 107 THE ISLANDS OF THE SEA. GOD is shaping the great future, of the islands of the sea; He has sown the blood of martyrs, and the fruit is liberty ; In thick clouds and in darkness, He has sent abroad His word; He has given a haughty nation to the cannon and the sword. He has seen a people moaning in the thousand deaths they die; He has heard from child and woman a terrible dark cry; He has given the wasted talent of the steward faith- less found To the youngest of the nations with His abundance crowned. He called her to do justice where none but she had power ; He called her to do mercy to her neighbor at the door; He called her to do vengeance for her own sons foully dead; Thrice did He call unto her before she harkened. She has gathered the vast midland, she has searched her borders round! There has been a mighty hosting of her children on the ground; io8 WAR-TIME ECHOES Her searchlights lie along the sea, her guns are loud on land; To do her will upon the earth her armies round her stand. The fleet, at her commandment, to either ocean turns ; Belted round the mighty world her line of battle burns ; She has loosed the hot volcanoes of the ships of flaming hell; With fire and smoke and earthquake shock her heavy vengeance fell. Be jubilant, free Cuba, our feet are on your soil; Up mountain road, through jungle growth, our brav- est for thee toil; There is no blood so precious as their wounds pour forth for thee; Sweet be thy joys, free Cuba sorrows have made _thee free. Nor thou, O noble nation, who wast so slow to wrath, With grief too heavy-laden follow in duty's path; Not for ourselves our lives are; not for thyself art thou; The star of Christian ages is shining on thy brow. Rejoice, O mighty mother, that God hath chosen thee To be the western warder of the islands of the sea; He lifteth up, He casteth down, He is the King of kings, Whose dread commands o'er awe-struck lands are borne on eagles' wings. George E. Woodberry, in New York Times. PATRIOTIC POEMS 109 THE MISSOURI MULE. AT SANTIAGO, when the fight Was raging at its very height, Along the front of Wheeler's men, On mountain top, in tangled glen, Amid the battle's crash and jar, A startling sound came from afar; Long, doleful wails in trumpet tones Bewildering chorus of shrieks and groans <( Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! )J Over the mountains it floated down To the Spanish trenches before the town; That startling Ye-ee, that awful "haw/ Like the screech of a dull and rusty saw; And the Captain Don, with poised sword, Paused, and forgot to speak the word <( Retreat ! w Stricken dumb, that awful wail Caused his soul to leap and quail (< Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! }> The Cuban, hid in the vines and grass, Remembered his slothful, sullen ass, . Plodding along with its load to town, Over the highway dusty and brown; Measuring the way with its clumsy feet, And giving vent to an awful bleat; But different from that which echoed down To the Dons in the trenches before the town (( Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! }> Said the Captain Don, <( Whence, whence that sound That seems to quake the sky and ground ? w (< From the Yankee camp, }> a Sergeant said ; (< The pigs are wailing o'er their dead ! w no WAR-TIME ECHOES "Mayhap," said the Don, 'tis a Yankee shell, That shocks and kills with its awful yell. Retreat! Retreat! Fall back, my men; That threatening sound it comes again ! w (( Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! w Up spoke a gunner, as he touched his hat; (( 'Tis a dreadful sound, but I don't mind that; I've heard it oft by the slippery side Of the river of mud so long and wide, Which flows from mountains in Yankee land To Loiiisiana's reedy strand. First heard, 'twill terror wise or fool, 'Tis the song of the Yankee army mule. 'Twas raised in Missouri, I know its haw < Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! Ye-ee haw ! > S/. Lout's Globe-Democrat. * * * THE REGULAR. A SONG for the Regular! a song and a people's cheer For the man in blue who's grit clear through from end to end o' the year. From end to end o' the year he goes (with little enough for pay), Through summer heat, through wintry snows, where duty points the way, O little he cares for the cyclone's breath or the bliz- zard's nor' west sweep, Content enough with his quarters rough and never a growl at his keep, Ready to dig or ready to die, ready to broil or freeze. So long as he knows he is giving his blows to keep the flag on the breeze. PATRIOTIC POEMS III A grasp for the Regular! a grasp for the brawny hand That seeks not to shirk a soldier's work however it's cast or planned. O grudging enough, in the hour of peace, is the praise for his manly deed; But the people know where their faith must go in the day of the nation's need. When the dogs of war are out on the trail, when the foe has loosed his pack, Whose trusty rifle is ready then to pay him doubly back? Who meets him wherever he dares to claim a rood of soil in fee And makes him feel the might of his steel from mountain crest to sea ? Our hearts to the Regular! our hearts to our daunt- less son Who clears the way for a freeman's sway with his freeman's sword and gun. We saw him rush through the tropic brush to succor our gallant Wood, And well he knew when the bullets flew where the forts of Caney stood. O who will forget the bloody debt he wrote from his streaming veins When down from the heights of San Juan he looked on the Cuban plains ? O who will forget the charge he made, and the van- quished foe's despair, When the banner of Spain ne'er rose again, and they saw Old Glory there ? John Jerome Rooney, in the New York Sun. H2 WAR-TIME ECHOES ROUGH RIDERS' ROUNDELAY. The favorite marching song of Roosevelt's Rough Riders. It is sung to the tune of the Irish Fusileers. " ROUGH RIDERS were we from the West, Gallant gentlemen the rest, Of volunteers the best; Rallied to the flag at Roosevelt's behest To carve our way to glory. When the Spanish shells and shrapnel burst, Our losses were the worst The chaplain even cursed. (( Charge ! }) cried Colonel Roosevelt, and charged the first To carve our way to glory. Our rapid fire tore the Spanish line to bits, And scared them into fits; Their leaders lost their wits; Up the hill we went and stormed their rifle pits To carve our way to glory. Intrenched within the pits long we lay, By night as well as day, Sore at the delay; In our rear the yellow fever raged at Siboney To cheat us out of glory. When no bloody Spaniards are left to run, Cuba will be won, Our duty will be done; Dead and living every single one Has carved his way to glory. Private Edwin Emerson. PATRIOTIC POEMS 113 THE YANKEE DUDE'LL DO. WHEN Cholly swung his golf stick on the links, Or knocked the tennis ball across the net, With his bangs done up in cunning little kinks When he wore the tallest collar he could get, Oh, it was the fashion then To impale him on the pen; To regard him as being made of putty through and through; But his raquet's laid away, He is roughing it to-day, And heroically proving that the Yankee dude'll do. When Algy, as some knight of old arrayed, Was the leading figure at the <( fawncy ball, }> We loathed him for the silly part he played. He was set down as a monkey that was all ; Oh, we looked upon him then As unfit to class with men, As one whose heart was putty and whose brains were made of glue But he's thrown his cane away, And he grasps a gun to-day, While the world beholds him, knowing that the Yan- kee dude'll do. When Clarence cruised about upon his yacht, Or drove out with his footman through the park, His mamma, it was generally thought, Ought to have him in her keeping after dark; Oh, we ridiculed him then, We impaled him on the pen, 8 114 WAR-TIME ECHOES We thought he was effeminate, we dubbed him Sissy, too But he nobly marched away He is eating pork to-day, And heroically proving that the Yankee dude '11 do. How they hurled themselves against the angry foe, In the jungle and the trenches on the hill; When the word to charge was given, every dude was on the go He was there to die, to capture or to kill; Oh, he struck his level when Men were called upon again To preserve the ancient glory of the old red, white and blue; He has thrown his spats away, He is wearing spurs to-day, And the world will please take notice that the Yankee dude'll do. S. E. Kiser, in Cleveland Leader. * * * THE YANKEE DOODLE SOLDIER. WHAT'S the use to be a braggin' about any special lot, When you've got a lot of sojers that'll never miss a shot, Ner run from any battle that an army ever fit? By gosh, I'm jes' a-thinkin' that yer Uncle Sam "is it ! PATRIOTIC POEMS 115 They'll f oiler up Ol' Glory if it takes 'em ter the sky, An' they're jes' the kind o* fellers that air not afraid ter die. Shoutin', singin', an' a-fightin' under bilin' Suthern sun Nary one a-gittin' skeery er a-givin' up his gun. Bands a-playin' purty music while the cannons rip and roar Say, that's patriotism fer ye that yer never seen afore ! No, yer can't pick out the best un, fer they're all as true as steel. An' the Yankee Doodle sojer is the flower of the field. Thar's Dewey, he's a hero if thar's sich a thing on earth An' Hobson, he's another never knew the feller's worth. So's Schley, that quiet scrapper, an' Cervera knows it, too; An' Sampson is a good un or he wouldn't wear the blue. Then thar's Shafter, an' thar's Merritt an' a dozen more, Like Bob Evans, who's a-cussin' everything along the shore. But thar's others that air fighters, though they ain't got shoulder straps Ain't a-shinin' with epaulettes an a lot of other traps. Il6 WAR-TIME ECHOES They're the privates, bless the boys, that air standin' side by side They air fighters, they air heroes, they air Yankees, durn my hide! An' now I am a-yellin' fer the hull tarnation lot They're a splendid lot o' sojers that'll never miss a shot. Denver Times. * * * "APPLES FINKEY )) THE WATER-BOY, <( APPLES FINKEY!" Many a name Has a grander sound in the roll of fame; Many a more resplendent deed Has burst to light in the hour of need; But never a one from a truer heart, Striving to know and to do its part. Striving, under his skin of tan, With the years of a lad to act like a man. And who was <( Apples ? w I hear you ask. To trace his descent were indeed a task. Winding and vague was the family road And, perhaps, like Topsy, (< he only growed." But into the camp he lolled one noon, Barefoot, and whistling a darky tune, Into the camp of his dusky peers The gallant negro cavaliers -PATRIOTIC POEMS 117 The Tenth, preparing, at break o' day, To move to the transport down in the bay. Boom! roared the gun the ship swung free, With her good prow turned to the Carib Sea. (( Pity it was, for the little cuss, We couldn't take ( Apples } along with us, w The trooper said, as he walked the deck, And Tampa became a vanishing speck. What's that ? A stir and a creak down there In the piled-up freight then a tuft of hair, Crinkled and woolly and all unshorn And out popped (< Apples }> <( ez shore's yer born ! w Of course he wasn't provided for In the colonel's roll or the rules of war; But somehow or other the troop was glad To welcome the little darky lad. You know how our brave men, white and black. Landed and followed the Spaniard's track; And the Tenth was there in the very front, Seeking and finding the battle's brunt. Onward they moved through the living hell Where the enemy's bullets like raindrops fell, Down through the brush, and onward still Till they came to the foot of San Juan hill n8 WAR-TIME ECHOES Then up they went, with never a fear, And the heights were won with a mad, wild cheer ! And where was (< the mascot Finkey w then ? In the surging ranks of the fighting men ! Wherever a trooper was seen to fall, In the open field or the chaparral; Wherever was found a wounded man; (( Apples >} was there with his water and can. About him the shrapnel burst in vain He was up and on with his work again. The sharpshooters rattled a sharp tattoo, The singing Mausers around him flew. But (( Apples w was busy too busy to care For the instant death and the danger there. Many a parched throat burning hot, Many a victim of Spanish shot, Was blessed that day, ere the fight was won Under the tropical, deadly sun, By the cool drops poured from the water-can Of the dusky lad who was all a man. In the forward trenches, at close of day, Burning with fever, <( Finkey >J lay. He seemed to think through the long, wet night, He still was out in the raging fight, PATRIOTIC POEMS 119 For once he spoke in his troubled sleep; (< I'se comin', Cap., ef my legs'll keep!" Next day and the next and the next he stayed In the trenches dug by the Spaniard's spade, For the sick and wounded could not get back Over the mountainous, muddy track. But the troopers gave what they had to give That the little mascot might stick and live. Over him many a dark face bent, And through it all he was well content Well content as a soldier should Who had fought his fight and the foe withstood. Slowly these stern beleaguered men Nursed him back to his strength again, Till one fair day his glad eyes saw A sight that filled him with pride and awe, For there, as he looked on the stronghold down, The flag was hoisted over the town, And none in that host felt a sweeter joy Than (< Apples Finkey , w the water-boy. - John Jerome Rooney, in New York Sun. 20 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE REG'LAR ARMY MAN. HE AIN'T no gold-lace (< Belvidere," Ter sparkle in the sun; He don't parade with gay cockade, And posies in his gun; He ain't no (< pretty soldier boy," So lovely, spick, and span, He wears a crust of tan and dust, The Reg'lar Army man ; The marchin', parchin', Pipe-clay starchin', Reg'lar Army man. He ain't at home in Sunday School, Nor yet at social tea, And on the day he gets his pay He's apt ter spend it free; He ain't no temp'rance advocate, He likes to fill the can, He's kinder rough an' maybe tough, The Reg'lar Army man; The rarin', tearin', Sometimes swearin', Reg'lar Army man. No state'll call him <( noble son," He ain't no ladies' pet, But let a row start anyhow, They'll send for him, you bet! He don't cut any ice at all In Fashion's social plan, PATRIOTIC POEMvS 121 He gits a job to face a mob, The Reg'lar Army man; The millin', drillin', Made fer killin', Reg'lar Army man. They ain't no tears shed over him When he goes off ter war, He gits no speech nor prayerful (< preach w From mayor or governor; He packs his little knapsack up And trots off in the van, Ter start the fight and start it right, The Reg'lar Army man; The rattlin', battlin', Colt or Gatlin', Reg'lar Army man. He makes no fuss about the job, He don't talk big or brave, He knows he's in ter fight and win, Or help fill up a grave; He ain't no (( mamma's darlm'," but He does the best he can, And he's the chap that wins the scrap, The Reg'lar Army man; The dandy, handy, Cool, and sandy, Reg'lar Army man. Joe Lincoln, in L. A. W. Bulletin. 122 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE REGULAR ARMY, O. THE smoke of the battle fills the air and the dust is flying high; We give three cheers for the volunteers and the men about to die. For the heroes brave whom we know, we wave, as they charge in gallant style, And we shout hurrah for the chance of war and the favor of Fortune's smile. And the glorious deeds that the reader reads are the things we all may know; But not so plain is the might and main of the Reg- ular Army, O. On the nation's tongue are the words unsung of this silent moving mass.; Yet the victories won by heart and gun might never come to pass If their measured swing and their rifles' ring had not been there that day To bear the brunt at the battle's front in the Reg- ular Army way. We give three cheers for the volunteers as they charge o'er a fallen foe It were better still if our throats might fill for the Regular Army, O. In Time's great mint, when the circling glint of the glory coins are seen, Their luster will strike on the boys alike, as their glorious deeds have been. PATRIOTIC POEMS 123 And as sure as Fate metes out to the great their fullest measure of right, There shall be no song, but a record long of the ones who trained to fight. There shall be no dime in the mint of Time struck out in the afterglow, But an eagle of gold shall be unrolled for the Regu- lar Army, O. Tom Mas son, in Life. * * * BEFORE SANTIAGO. JULY. 1898. WHO cries that the days of daring are those that are faded far, That never a light burns planet-bright to be hailed as the ftero's star ? Let the deeds of the dead be laureled, the brave of the elder years, But a song, we say, for the men of to-day who have proved themselves their peers! High in the vault of the tropic sky is the garish eye of the sun, And down with its crown of guns a-frown looks the hill-top to be won; There is the trench where the Spaniard lurks, his hold and his hiding place, And he who would cross the space between must meet death face to face. 124 WAR-TIME ECHOES The black mouths belch and thunder, and the shrap- nel shrills and flies; Where are the fain and fearless, the lads with the dauntless eyes ? Will the moment find them wanting ? Nay, but with valor stirred ! Like the leashed hound on the coursing ground they wait but the warning word. "Charge!" and the line moves forward, moves with a shout and a swing, While sharper far than the cactus-thorn is the spite- ful bullet's sting. Now they are out in the open, and now they are breasting the slope, While into the eyes of death they gaze as into the eyes of hope. Never they wait nor waiver, but on they clamber and on, With <( Up with the flag of the stripes and stars, and down with the flag of the don ! w What should they bear through the shot-rent air, but rout to the ranks of Spain, For the blood that throbs in their hearts is the blood of the boys of Anthony Wayne! See, they have taken the trenches! Where are the foemen ? Gone ! And now <( Old Glory w waves in the breeze from the heights of stern San Juan! And so, while the dead are laureled, the brave of the elder years, A song, we say, for the men of to-day, who have proved themselves their peers! Clinton Scollard, in Leslie's Weekly. PATRIOTIC POEMS 125 WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. M General Wheeler started on the two miles' journey to the front in an ambulance. About half-way to the front he met some litters bearing wounded. The veteran, against the protest of the surgeons, immediately ordered his horse, and after personally assisting the wounded into the ambulance, mounted and rode onward. The men burst into frantic cheers, which followed the (Gen- eral all along the line." Correspondence of New York Tribune. INTO the thick of the fight he went, pallid, and sick, and wan, Borne in an ambulance to the front, a ghostly wisp of a man; But the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved in the long ago, Went to the front in that ambulance, in the body of Fighting Joe. Out from the front they were coming back, smitten of Spanish shells Wounded boys from the Vermont hills and the Ala- bama dells; (( Put them into this ambulance; I'll ride to the front, w he said; And he climbed to the saddle, and rode right on, that little old ex-Confed. From end to end of the long blue ranks rose up the ringing cheers, And many a powder-blackened face was furrowed with sudden tears, As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and hair and beard of snow, Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old Fight- ing Joe! 126 WAR-TIME ECHOES Sick with fever and racked with pain, he could not stay away, For he heard the song of the yester-years in the deep- mouthed cannon's bay He heard in the calling song of the guns there was work for him to do, Where his country's best blood splashed and flowed 'round the old red, white, and blue. Fevered body and hero heart! This Union's heart to you Beats out in love and reverence and to each dear boy in blue Who stood or fell 'mid the shot and shell, and cheered in the face of the foe As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight, rode little old Fighting Joe! James Lindsay Gordon. * * * RAFFERTY OF F. GAUNT as a wolf from the hunger-ship, Three weeks' stubble on chin and lip, Grimed and stained with the Cuban mire, An eye that gleamed with latent fire, Mouth just made for a smile or joke, But stern as steel when the Mausers spoke A woman's soft hand with band and lint When the fight is done, but hard as flint PATRIOTIC POEMS 127 While a foe still faces the fighting line Talk o' your Captains! That was mine! That's Rafferty of F. There were cheeks that paled ; some whispered (< Stop ! w But he laughed: (( We will when we get to the top. )) <( That spitting hell no mortal man Can face one minute." (< By God, I can! Fours right! Deploy!" And we faced the hill. In dreams of horror I see it still. With the bullets crooning adown the slope, A knell to life and a dirge to hope; But we set our teeth to the battle brunt, And the yelling demon out in front Was Rafferty of (< F ! Firm-gripped nettle forgets to sting; Rush to the front when the bullets sing; Fierce-fought fight is the soonest won; Foe hard pressed will the quicker run That is the simple tactical plan Of this fighting Irish gentleman. We stormed the hill. Ah! but the bitter cost! But ten to one for our hurt and lost, We paid the score on the flying Don. We'd swarm through hell with the lid spiked on For Rafferty of F. L. H. 128 WAR-TIME ECHOES SONG OF THE COLORED TROOPER. BATTLE OF JULY i IN FRONT OF SANTIAGO. O COME along, honey, feet off de groun', An' take a ban' in de game; For hearts dey am trumps, an' its kyards all roun', An' de bullets am callin' yo' name. De bullets am callin' yo' name, honey! De bullets am callin' yo' name! An' yer won't fall back Cuz yo' face am black, An' de bullets am callin' yo' name! O come along, honey, let yo'se'f loose Per Thirteen per an' fer fame! Now doan' duck yo' head, fer it ain't no use When de bullets am callin' yo' name. De bullets am callin' yo' name, honey! De bullets am callin' yo' name! An' you'll show yo' han', An' you'll ac' like a man When de bullets am callin' yo' name! O come along, honey, play out yo' han', An' take de trick wif yo' aim; Show yaller an' white dat de black's a man When de bullets am callin' yo' name. De bullets am callin' yo' name, honey! De bullets am callin' yo' name ! PATRIOTIC POEMS 129 An' it's no cake walk When dem Mauser guns talk, De bullets am callin' yo' name ! O come along, honey, hell is up dar, It's time fer ter put out de flame; Mah ear, dere it goes! nebber touched mah ha'r; Guess de bullets am callin' mah name! De bullets am callin' mah name, honey! De bullets am callin' mah name! Dough mah wool's still on, Dere's a nudder ear gone Guess de bullets am callin' mah name! O come along, honey, play out yo' han'; Dis chile am out ob de game De hottest ole fight since de Lawd made man An' de bullets am callin' mah name. De bullets am callin' mah name, honey! De bullets am callin' mah name! Honey, doan' fall back, Dough dey've taken mah jack, An' de bullets am callin' mah name! Eward F. Burns, in Boston Globe. * * * THE NEGRO SOLDIER. WE USED to think the negro didn't count for very much Light fingered in the melon patch, and chicken yard, and such; 9 130 WAR-TIME ECHOES Much mixed in point of morals and absurd in point of dress; The butt of droll cartoonists and the target of the press; But we've got to reconstruct our views on color, more or less, Now we know about the Tenth at La Quasina! When a rain of shot was falling, with a song upon his lips, In the horror where such gallant lives went out in death's eclipse, Face to face with Spanish bullets, on the slope of San Juan, The negro soldier showed himself another type of man; Read the story of his courage, coldly, carelessly, who can The story of the Tenth at La Quasina! We have heaped the Cuban soil above their bodies, black and white The strangely sorted comrades of that grand and glorious fight And many a fair-skinned volunteer goes whole and sound to-day For the succor of the colored troops, the battle records say; And the feud is done forever, of the blue coat and the gray All honor to the Tenth at La Quasina! B. M. Ckanning, in Boston Journal. PATRIOTIC POEMS 131 WITH TEDDY. ONLY boy we ever had, Him that went with Teddy, Tough and husky sort o' lad, Rough and always ready. Somewhat wildish in his way, Ruther swear, I guess, than pray, But as honest as the day, Always true and steady. Didn't like to see him go, Me an' his ol' mother. Both our hearts a packin' woe We could scarcely smother. Loved our boy almighty dear, An' it knocked us out o' gear, When he went an' left us here 'Lone with one another. Used to set here every night, Me an' my ol' woman, Talkin' 'bout the way he'd fight When he met the foeman. Knowed he'd never flinch a bit, Knowed he wasn't built to quit, Knowed for sure he'd never git Back an inch fur no man. When the Denver people come To the rench a tellin' 'Bout the fight, I made^things hum Dancin' an' a yellin'i 132 WAR-TIME ECHOES Whooped for Teddy an' the rest With the wildest sort o' zest, While the heart within me breast Was with pride a swellin'! Keep a readin' on an' on, Whooped till mother hinted That I acted like I'd gone Actually demented! Then a cloud came o'er my eyes, An' I groaned in pained surprise On one name they'd printed. Nothin' that the neighbors said, Could our sorrow lighten. Every time they'd mention Ned Seemed the cinch 'd tighten ! Only gleam o' sun that shot Through our souls with mis'ry fraught Was the one consolin' thought, That he died a fightin'. Anon. * * * SANTIAGO'S DEAD. THERE are strains of martial music, and the sound of muffled drum, Every moment growing louder, as the soldiers nearer come, PATRIOTIC POEMS 133 They are marching, slowly marching, to the camp ground of the dead, With arms reversed, and solemn mien, and measured heavy tread. Marching on, marching on, marching on, on, on, While the muffled drum is tapping, they are slowly marching on. They are marching with their heroes, who with their lives have sealed Their loyalty to (< Glory w on a crimson battle-field, And that starry battle-banner, is now draped upon their biers, As they're borne to that bivouac, so often wet with tears. Marching on, marching on, marching on, on, on, While the muffled drum is tapping, they are slowly marching on. The bugle-call has sounded, for the soldier's last tattoo, They are going to their quarters, those heroes of the blue- Their comrades fire volleys over every hero's grave, A soldier's fitting tribute, for (< the bravest of the brave. w Marching on, marching on, marching on, on, on, For their names in Glory's annals will be proudly marching on. E. S. Roberts. 134 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE SOLDIER'S BURIAL, The regiment stood in close ranks about the grave as the muffled figures were lowered gently, the chaplain calling out the names of each. He called the names of mule packer, salesman, cowboy, and last of all, Hamilton Fish, Jr., the young sergeant who was carried to the front to die, and whose watch bore the crests of Alexander Hamilton and Nicholas Fish, and the motto <* God will give.*" Richard Harding Davis, in the New York Herald. BURY them, bury them side by side, With the tropic grasses bending over, Where the royal palm, all undenied, Shall be their constant lover! There, on the hillsides over the bay, Over the beautiful Cuban valley, Tenderly, tenderly lay them away Where they won their last fierce rally! Oh, the desperate charge they made The flag of the Stars and Stripes before them, And never a heart of these hearts afraid To strike for the land that bore them. Peace ! the Chaplain is calling their names, Peace to the ashes to dust returning; But earth cannot cover the light of their fames, Or darken the glow of its burning! Cowboy, clerk, and packer are here Fortune's favorite, dauntless and true One in their scorn of a coward fear, Onq in their love for the Blue ! PATRIOTIC POEMS 135 Northland, Southland, East and West Northland, Southland never again! West and East in a love confessed Over these voiceless men ! Chaplain, call us again the rolls! For earth hath never a melody As sweet as the names of the hero souls That strive to make men free! Leave not one from the shining list Each is something transfigured now; Over our eyes sweeps a holy mist, A shadow is on each brow! But (< God will give >} in the days to come ; God will give as ever He gives; After the roar of musket and drum He knows, He cares, He lives! And these our mother is taking to sleep In her deepest breast, by the Cuban bay Shall ever be under the Father's keep And shall not pass away! - John Jerome Rooney, in N. Y. Times. * * * OUR NEW HEROES, THEY'VE half-inch thick of tan upon their faces, And some of them have freckles on their toes, They've scars and bandages in sundry places As proof of the attentions of their foes. 136 WAR-TIME ECHOES There are some who really ought to see the barber Their tailors surely never earned their pay But we'd know them anywhere as our new heroes The men the nation honors Hip, hooray! CHORUS They're coming home together To meet us all again, The men the nation honors, The men who conquered Spain; And when they march down Broadway, We'll tear the sky with cheers For army and for navy, And gallant volunteers. There is Dewey, whom Augusti swore to murder, To hang upon the trees with all his men; But Dewey didn't understand the programme And so he smashed Montejo in his den. There is Hobson, earned the foeman's admiration, He bottled poor Cervera up so tight That when the Spaniard fled in desperation He had to make his dash in broad daylight. There's the man who caught the Spanish ships escaping- And sent them all to Davy Jones's domain; He kept the word he gave when first he saw them (< Not one, }> he said, (( would e'er get back to Spain. w There's Shafter and his men from Santiago, They drew the lines so close about the town That all the brave defenders there surrendered And twenty thousand stands of arms laid down. Sydney Reid, in New York Sun. PATRIOTIC POEMS 137 MIGHTY FINE. JEFF lived jes' off th' ol' plank road, On a farm thet wus two b' four, He didn't hev much t' say t' folks Becuz he was humble an* pore; But whenever anythin' pleased his eye His withered ol' face 'd shine, An' we'd hear him say in his quiet way: <( Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w Once a Senator came t' th' County Fair, An' he talked t' th' G. A. R., How they fought in th' war o' Sixty-one, Th' Army man an' th' tar; An' when he'd cracked up Lincoln some Es a man almos' divine, We heard Jeff say in his quiet way: <( Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w An' when las' spring th' President said He'd do up ol' haughty Spain Per doin' a villainous, treacherous deed Like th' blowin' up o' th' (< Maine/* Ol' Jeff he threw his paper aside, In a pleased way, I opine; An' we heard him say in his quiet way: w Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w An' when th' President called fer men An' a million answered th' call, 138 WAR-TIME ECHOES An' th' warn't 'nough guns t' go eround, Ol' Jeff growd suddenly tall. <( I'm proud o' my country, boys," said he, Es he chawed at th' end of a twine; An' we heard him add in accents glad: (< Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! }> Ol' Jeff hed a boy o' twenty-three, An' a strappin* good feller, too, An' when he heard th' wus goin' t' be war He put on a suit o' blue; An' when he started off t' th' train Ol' Jeff never made a sign, But he turned t' th' crowd an' said aloud: (< Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w An' when he read o' th' Manila fight, How Dewey hed smashed a fleet, An' all the village went rippin' mad An' hollerin' in th' street, Ol' Jeff come down through his garden plot An' he leant on th' harbor vine; An' we heard him say in his quiet way: (< Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w He never hollered ner shouted eround, That sort, y' see, wa'nt ol' Jeff's way, But he felt, you bet, in his good ol' heart, Thet th' navy was come t' stay! Thar wus po'try, too, in them gentle words, A po'try we couldn't define, When he'd turn an' say, in his quiet way: <( Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w PATRIOTIC POEMS 139 He'd borrer th' papers o' neighbors near An' he'd read 'em all through at night, An' then drop in at th' grocery store An' tell what he thought o' th' fight. When Hobson went int' th' mouth o' hell An' laughed at th' Spanish mine, We heard Jeff say in his quiet way: (< Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! * An' when th' report came over th' wire How they'd stormed San Joo'n hill, An' many a man wus dead an' gone An' many a heart wus still, Ol' Jeff, though he knowd thet his boy Wus one thet made th' incline, He wus heard t' say in his quiet way: <( Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w An' when they brought th' pore lad back In a narrer box o' pine, An' th' village band played th' grim dead march, An' th' hull town got in line, An' th' minister said how brave he wus, An' every eye filled with brine, We heard Jeff say in a chokin' way: (( Say, boys, thet wus mighty fine ! w Harold MacGrath, in Syracuse Herald. 140 WAR-TIME ECHOES AWK'ARD NED. JEST a great big rural jay, Greener than a cussed mango, Come an' j'ined our troop one day From a ranch down near Durango. Awk'ard as a shepherd pup, Hair a sort o' sunbur't yaller, An' we straightway put him up As a durn half-witted feller Lackin' sense enough to eat 'Less'n someone 'd cut his meat. Got to be the laughin' stock O' the troop. Lord! how we guyed him Every move o' his we'd mock But our actions never tried him. Used to sometimes softly say In a answer to our chaffin', In a easy country way: <( Nothin' healthier than laughin'; Fun fur you, I guess, an' it Isn't hurtin' me a bit." When we sailed fur Cuby we Used to say we'd see him vanish Full o' sharp alacrity Furst time that we struck the Spanish; Used to fetch a laugh, an* say, When the rifles got a poppin' He would make a rearward play, Like a oV Jack-rabbit hoppin'; PATRIOTIC POEMS 141 Then he'd answer sort o' slow: (( Mebbe yes, an' mebbe no. >J I have read an' I've bin tol' That there often comes a 'casion When it's soothin' to the soul Fur to make a straight confession, An' I'm willin' to admit In the hull cowboy battalion Wasn't one of us that fit Harder than that same rapscallion. Even Colonel Teddy said He was proud o' awk'ard Ned. An' as we was standin' 'round While the chaplain was a talkin', Every eye spiked to the ground, Every neck plum full o' chokin', Him a layin' there in death With a fight-look on his features, Want to tell you, pard, the breath Come durned hard to us vile creatures, Eyes a snappin' shut like shears, Bitin' off the risin' tears! The Denver Poet. 142 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE STALKING OF THE SEA WOLVES. THEY had come from out of the east To ravage and burn and kill, And they stopped for a moment to rest and wait In a landlocked harbor still. But a grim sea dog there was Who had stalked them through spray and foam, And he came and he looked, and he smiled and said: <( They'll never get home ! M Then another old sea dog came, And they sat them down to wait, Untiring, stern, through long, dry days, At the harbor's frowning gate. Under the hot, fierce sun, Under the still, blue dome, The sea dogs waited, and watched, and growled They'll never get home ! And the wolves came forth at last, And the grim sea dogs closed in, And the battle was won, and the Old Flag waved Where the banner of Spain had been. The colors of blood and gold Sank deep in the churning foam, And the sea dogs growled : <( We have kept our word; They'll never get horned Chas. IV. Thompson, in N. Y. Sun. PATRIOTIC POEMS 143 HOBSON AND HIS MEN. 'Tis well to grant fair meed of praise To daring deeds of bygone days, Nor slight the worth of Homer's sires Or Froissart's doughty knights and squires; But to the dead heroic scroll 'Tis good to add the living roll. Let honor's beaming sun arise, The age of heroes never dies! Aye ! Let it shine and blazon forth A deathless deed of matchless worth. In full-orbed glory set the eight Who dauntless dared a grewsome fate. Would that old Froissart's prose were mine, Or better, Homer's strain divine, To hold forever up to view The fame of Hobson and his crew! Within the frowning batteries' range, As to parade, sight passing strange, They steadfast steered unmindful on, Albeit ev'ry Spanish gun Barked death unmoved still, although They knew torpedoes lay below; And on her greatest trip and last The <( Merrimac }) unscathed passed.' The channel, leading .to the bay, Had such a narrow, tortuous way, A vessel scraped the rocky ledge, And toiling slow would onward wedge. 144 WAR-TIME ECHOES The goal of which they went in quest Was at that channel's narrowest; They reached and stopped their laden boat, Then sunk her down the harbor's throat. The namesake of the rebel ram Serves well her country for a dam, And holds a hostile fleet in pound. If their' s would pass, it runs aground. To starve or yield alternatives The sunken vessel grimly gives; To yield or starve and Spanish pride On this dilemma must decide. Where Morro's keep confronts the wave, Lie those enchained, whom, being brave, Despoiler death refused to slay. vSoon should a grateful country pay A kingly ransom, exchange ten Or hundred-fold for Hobson's men. Too narrow, Morrow's dungeon bars For heroes of the Stripes and Stars. Thomas E. Smiley, in Indianapolis News. * * * HOBSON. AS TOLD BY MIKEY O*TOOLE. Siz Hobson, of Allybama, I brought yez A load of coal. Siz Servery, it's just the very thing I wahnt, bless yer soul. PATRIOTIC POEMS 145 Siz Hobson, I'll put er down in the Bazemint for yez to get. Siz Servery, hould on, if ye do it'll All git mity wet. Divil cares, siz Hobson, is this the Bay of Santiago ? Never yez mind about the bay. Dom the bay, siz the Dago. That's phwat I'm tryin* to do, siz Hobson, Both inds on the ground. Siz Servery, lave room, plaze, for A wheelbarry to go round. 'Dthin he siz, doo yez see me min a Shootin' away at marks ? I doo, begorra, siz Hobson, they're Skarrin' ahf all the sharks. Pay for the coal, siz Hobson, I've Put er all down in the bin. Divil a cint I have, said Servery, For you and the min. 'Dthin we'll boord with yez, si& Hobson, Until ivery cint we git. And he did, an' he's boording it out With the Dago til yit. Ironquill. 146 WAR-TIME ECHOES * THE HOBSON-ARNOLD KISS. These verses were published the morning after the memorable kiss at Bath Beach. OH, THE glamour And the clamor Of the Hobson- Arnold kiss! Lovely Emma! Sweet dilemma, Which the hero couldn't miss! At the seaside, On the leeside Of a summer hostelry, Came the issue, <( May I kiss you ? w Chirped the maid to Richmond P Eyes appealing Set him reeling Luckiest he of living men! Cuss the Dago! Santiago Had no charm for Richmond then. For it true is That St. Louis Girls are neater, sweeter far Than all others, (Like their mothers) Makes no difference who they are. PATRIOTIC POEMS 147 So the maiden, Beauty-laden, Glued a kiss upon the lips That were cheerful 'Neath the fearful Rain of lead from Spanish ships. Hobson, go! You Have all we owe you. What are shells that madly whirl To the blisses Of the kisses Of a sweet Missouri girl ? S/. Louis Post Dispatch. * * * HIS BLOOD. Colonel Roosevelt is by descent French, Scotch, Dutch, and Irish. Current Newspaper Information. ZEES Tayodore, ze (< Ridaire Rude, }) Who led ze charge at Caney, Possess a coorazh verra good, Mon Dieu! He's von of many! Ze papaires talk ze man upon And praise hees hero-eesm; Zey like zees new Napoleon, Nor ees eet strange he please zem. Pourquoi ? He ees a Frenchman ! I ken a mon sae fu' o' fire An' weel renoon deservin' 148 WAR-TIME ECHOES As he that fought mid reek an' mire, Wi' nae retreat, nae swervin', When Spanish shell an' Spanish gun Besmeared the groun' sae redlie; But his was nae the race to shun Tho' sword an' shot be deadlie, For, trulie, he's ae Scotchman! It vas not gueer dis Roosevelt Vas sooch a prave gommander; I dells you I mineself haf felt As pold as Alexander; It vas der ploot, mine frients, der ploot, Dot mages der vearless soldtier; An' dere vas none von ha'f so goot Remember vot I toldt you As his, vor he's von Dutchman! Av coorse our Teddy's bould and brave, How ilse could he be other ? No foiner lad, Oi well belave, E'er woman had for mother. Av coorse he drubbed thim Spanyards haard Down there at Santiago; He's not the spalpeen to be scared At any div'lish Dago, Because, begob, he's Oirish! Vraiment! Zees Tayodore ees grand! Parceque he ees a Frenchman; But dinna reck ae Scot is bond To serve as any's henchman; PATRIOTIC POEMS 149 Dere vas no nation on der earth So bold as vas der Deutscher; An' ivery mon av anny worth Is Oirish in the future, As Teddy is this prisent! W. D. Fox, in New York Sun. HYMN OF THE SANTIAGO SPANIARD. WE'RE going home, we're going home, We're going home manana, And that is where we've got the bulge On the dagoes in Havana. We're going home, we're going home To tell the folks the story Of how we scoffed at and defied And bowed before Old Glory. We're going home, no more to roam Through lands the Yanks are after, And you can bet we'll shun the beat Patrolled by big Bill Shafter. Viva Toral! We're going home, To give up war and folly We're going home, and glad to get The chance to go, by golly! Cleveland Leader. 150 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE "VESUVIUS." THERE is going to be some crumbling and some shaking down of walls, There will be some lively dodging to and fro; There is going to be an earthquake every time the captain calls Upon the sturdy fellows at the gun to (< let her g o! Oh, the swarthy, sweating Spaniard will imagine Satan's there, And that the fag end of the world has just come into sight, And something more than rumor will be flying in the air When the little old (< Vesuvius w begins to dynamite. There will be some lively spectacles worth going miles to see Some gorgeous pyrotechnical displays; There will be some soaring castles and the patient mules will be Strewn o'er the Cuban landscape in a thousand varied ways. Oh, the swarthy, sweating Spaniard will imagine Satan's there, And that the fag end of the world has just come into sight, And something more than rumor will be flying in the air When the little old (< Vesuvius w begins to dynamite. Cleveland Leader. PATRIOTIC POEMS 1:5.1- SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST. THE new <( protected cruiser }> cruised upon the ocean wide, Till a man-of-war espied her and punched holes into her side. And the man-of-war continued for a little while to float, Till driven to the bottom by a new torpedo boat. Then while the foe triumphant rubbed his hands and softly laughed, Torpedo boat destroyers came and sunk the other craft. And as the victor dashed about, through battle's smoke and murk, Destroyers of torpedo boat destroyers did their work. Whereat into the action something new in vessels came ' ( Destroyers of destroyers of destroyers }> was its name. Which brings the matter down to date, where it will rest, no doubt, Until some ten times wrecker of destroyers ventures out. Anon. 152 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE MOSQUITO FLEET. You can talk about your squadrons With their mighty battleships And their rapid-sailing cruisers That go off on scouting trips, You may say that they in battle Are extremely hard to beat; They're not in it for a minute With the new Mosquito fleet ! For last night, straight for the harbor Of my sleeping room they made, And most fearlessly and daring Ran right through my screen blockade, Then, with merciless projectiles That project a dozen feet, They bombarded my poor forehead, Did this big Mosquito fleet ! With my swinging right-hand battery I replied with several shots, But in vain; for they kept cruising At the speed of twenty knots. So I sunk myself, exclaiming, As to death I went so sweet: I was in it JUST a minute, With the new ( Mosquito } fleet ! James Courtney Challiss. PATRIOTIC POEMS 153 THE EAGLE AND THE VULTURE SAID the vulture to the eagle: <( I'm a looking straight at you.* Said the eagle to the vulture: Whoop-la! Yankee Doodle-do ! w Then the eagle and the vulture Came together in the air, And there ain't a sign of vulture To be noticed anywhere, Save a heap of bloody feathers. But the eagle proudly flew O'er the heights of Santiago Screaming, (< Yankee Doodle-do ! * Said Cervera in the morning: <( I'm a going to rush through. }) Then said Schley to rash Cervera: (< I won't do a thing to you." Then the two fleets came together And they had a pretty fight, And it ended in Cervera Being in the vulture's plight. Then the bands began a tooting, And the brave blue-coated crew Joined in screaming like the eagle: 'Rah for Yankee Doodle-do! Said Linares to "Bill" Shafter: <( You can't catch me in a year. " Said (< Bill Shafter to Linares : <( I will get you, never fear." 154 WAR-TIME ECHOES Then Bill Shafter gave Linares Sev'ral awful hearty whacks, And Linares found he'd got it Where the chicken got the ax. Thereupon Bill Shafter's fighters, Clad in Uncle Sammy's blue, Sang upon that July morning, 'Rah for Yankee Doodle-do ! Omaha World-Herald. * * * A BALLADE OF BLUE JACKETS. THE Don had his will with the (t Maine, M He set off his mine with a roar, He quaffed to our dead his champagne, And laughed till his sides they were sore: And now he must settle his score, And pay for his sport, as is right, Our navy is brave, as of yore, And Yankee blue-jackets can fight. Perhaps we are not in the vein We pigs, as he's called us before To laugh at our sailor-boys slain, And so his brave joke we deplore. And flashing a bolt from the shore And sinking a ship in the night Was murder, our blue-jackets swore And Yankee blue-jackets can fight. Our guns at Manila spoke plain, And sharp was the message they bore, PATRIOTIC POEMS 155 As swift through the squadron of Spain Our death-dealing hurricane tore; As, riddled and rent to the core, Each cruiser plunged down out of sight, (< One more for our sailors ! one more ! w And Yankee blue-jackets can fight. ENVOY. Alfonso, just add to your store Of learning, this sentiment trite, Remember the war isn't o'er, And Yankee blue-jackets can fight. Joe Lincoln, in L. A. IV. Bulletin. * * * THE GNARLY SAILOR MAN. IT WAS a gnarly sailor man Tattooed across the breast, Who waddled toward a coil of rope And sat thereon to rest. The beard he wore was grizzly gray, His face was crimson red, He spat profusely at the tide And scratched his ear and said: (< Time was when I was just a kid, First follerin' the sea, An' yarns like these was told within The fo'c'sle to me. 156 WAR-TIME ECHOES <( They told me of the spooky ship Manned by a crew of ghosts That rassled with the waves about The Pattygony coasts. <( Likewise an' similar I heerd Of speerit craft that would Come bearin' down upon you in Midocean neighborhood ; <( Come bearin' down upon you till There wan't two foot to spare Then disappeared in half a wink An' left you shakin' there. u Ay, man an' boy, fer forty year I've heerd them tales of old; I've set amongst my mates an' stared At dreadful yarns they told. <( But stranger than the lot of them Rolled up in one an' tied, Is these here statements that we hear Right now on ev'ry side. "Ten hundred times as odd as is That Flyin' Dutchman case Is this about the Spanish fleet Which we're a-givin' chase. <( They seen it up by Eastport, Maine, One pleasant, quiet morn, An' next day some one sighted it A-roundin' of Cape Horn. PATRIOTIC POEMS 157 (< An' in between, a merchantman Comes in an* swears he viewed Them ships in longitude 16 An' 80 latitude. ft But just as we have hunted it An' when the place is found A cable comes from Labrador: ( Spain's boats is here, aground.* "Which makes us happy fer an hour, An' then from Martinique We hear: ( That Spanish squadron's here, An' has been fer a week.* (( One ocean captain says he seen Them vessels out at sea Headed fer Spain an* also fer The coast of Carribbee. <( Yet, speakin' of the self-same hour, Another says their smoke Caught his attention as he was Ten mile off Cape Saint Roque. (< They fly by night, they fly by day; A million knots or so In half a minute is the speed At which them Spaniards go. (< From Delagoa bay around Up to the Benin bight Is just a little, easy jaunt, That takes up half a night. 158 WAR-TIME ECHOES w An' judgin' by the last reports About their movements I'm A liar if them ships ain't been Six places at one time. <( It beats the Flyin' Dutchman cold, It beats all ghosts an' such, The way them Spanish warboats chase Around the world so much. u Them stories that I used to hear In old times, as I says, Ain't nothin' to what's printed in The papers nowadays. w As I was sayin' }) Down the pier A boy, with all his might, Came crying: "Extree! Extree, here! De latest from de fight ! The gnarly sailor paid his price And turned the printed sheet, Wherein a <( special cablegram }> Looked up, his eyes to greet. (< I learn there are no Spanish ships, And never were," he read. The sailor man spat at the tide. Well, I'll be darned, he said. Anon. PATRIOTIC POEMS 159 SONG OF THE BATTLESHIP STOKERS. HEAVE on the coal, to win the goal, Of a blasting ocean war! By pits of hell stand sentinel, As the deadly cannon roar. The engines beat in blanching heat; Our battleship ploughs her course; Up there they fight in cool daylight, While we feed the monster's force. Over the sea, our battery Will lay waste the upper world; And far from fame we feed the flame, As the bursting bombs are hurled. We cannot know the ebb and flow Of the battle's rushing tide; But hear the boom of unknown doom Where the thundering warships ride. Each moment passed may be our last, For the crashing bomb-shells fly, And the fires of fate reverberate In the wide, smoke-laden sky. In lurid night we feed the fight, As the belching cannon roar, Heave on the coal, to win the goal Of our country's ocean war! Katharine Coolidge. 160 WAR-TIME ECHOES BATTLE PRAYER. O GOD, at whose supreme behest The clang of war may sound or cease, May we but fight that gentle peace On Cuba's Isle once more may rest. If thought of dark revenge allure, Or pride of place, or idle boast, In Freedom's name purge Thou our host, And make their motives just and pure! Keep Thou our banner free from stain, Its stripes like rays of morning light, Its stars as clear and crystal bright, As those which deck Thy winter train. And in the din of war's alarm, When love's soft voice is hard to hear, Let tender mercy hover near To drop her two-fold healing balm, So shall our country ever be The same as when in battle bold She fought as giants fought of old; But fought for peace and liberty. Francis H. Tabor. PATRIOTIC POEMS 161 THE MAN WHO COOKS THE GRUB. WE HAVE read in song and story Of <( the man behind the gun." He is given all the glory Of the battles that are won; They are filling up the papers With his apotheosis, And they tell about his capers, While the shells about him hiss. But behind the grimy gunner, Steadfast through the wild hubbub, Stands a greater god of battles 'Tis the man who cooks the grub. When the sky is rent with thunder And the shell screams through the air, When some fort is rent asunder And destruction revels there ; When the men in line go rushing On to glory or to woe, With the maddened charges crushing Heroes who are lying low; There is one but for whose labors There could be no wild hubbub, And the greatest god of battles Is the man who cooks the grub. What of ships with armor plating? What of castles on the heights ? What of anxious captains waiting While, the careful gunner sights ? 1 62 WAR-TIME ECHOES What of all the long-range rifles ? What of men with valiant hearts ? These were but impotent trifles, But inconsequential parts Of the whole, without the fellow Who must scour, scrape, and scrub For the greatest god of battles Is the man who cooks the grub. Anon. * * * CAPTAIN PHILIP. When the Spanish flag was pulled down on the Almirante Oquendo,"the commander of the "Texas" gave the order to his men : * Don't cheer, because the poor fellows are dying. * THE victor looks over the shot-churned wave At the riven ship of his foeman brave And the men in their life-blood lying; And the joy of the conquest leaves his eyes, The lust of fame and of battle dies, And he says: "Don't cheer; they're dying." Cycles have passed since Bayard the brave Passed since Sydney the water gave, On Zutphen's red sod lying; But the knightly echo has lingered far It rang in the ears of the Yankee tar, When he said: (< Don't cheer; they're dying. . . _ Charles W. Thompson, in N. Y. Sun. PATRIOTIC POEMS 163 VICTORY. Respectfully dedicated to Captain Philip, of the battle- ship "Texas," July 3, 1898. THE victory's ours! The foeman's vaunted fleet. Pledged to defend its haughty nation's pride, Is torn with shot and shell, and furnace heat. And men aflame with passion's fiercer tide Sink from our sight: <( Don't cheer!" In foreign homes, hearts ache and vainly plead For quick return of brother, son or sire; Body and spirit fast are being freed 'Neath kindly wave, or steel-girt funeral pyre. 'Twill soon be o'er! Don't cheer! Their work is done ; they bravely fought and lost ; Restrain the victor's vibrant, ringing breath; Send no exultant note the space across To mock the vanquished in the hour of death. <( They're dying, boys! Don't cheer!" Now to the God of battles, lift the heart With reverent, upward look, and pledge anew In this, the hour of triumph, that your part Shall still be borne to home and honor true (< My hero-boys! Don't cheer ! w Sara C. Wilbur, in Midland Monthly. 1 64 WAR-TIME ECHOES A SONG OF HEROES. THEY sing about the admirals; likewise the commo- dores, An' the men that take their orders up on deck, An' the lads that feed the big gun while it rears its head and roars A-pinin' for to see another wreck. You'd think they'd gone clean through the list and never skipped a thing, With their "jolly tars," "hooray," and <( yo-heave- ho! But there's none as tunes a string While he lifts 'is voice to sing Of the Jackies wot's a-stokin' down below. Oh, it's here's to him a-fightin' Where the shot kicks up a spray, It's glorious and excitin' When he rushes to the fray, But there ought to be some snatches On the way it stirs your soul When they batten down the hatches While you shovel in the coal. We don't go much on uniforms. In all that heat and dirt, With flames a-reachin' out to eat the air, It's just a waste of etiquette to wear a woolen shirt; You never have your picture taken there. It's no use to deny it; in your throat there comes a lump, PATRIOTIC POEMS 165: As you think of home and wonder where you'll g While your heart begins to thump Like the wheels that clang and thump Round the Jackies wot's a-stokin' down below. Oh, it's here's to him a-fightin' And a takin' steady aim; If he's hurt there's some delight in Thinkin' he can do the same By the first un' that he catches But we don't know wot's the goal When they batten down the hatches While we shovel in the coal. It's a glorious consolation in the toilin' and the thirst To wipe the wetness from our brows and think That we're handsomely provided for, in case we meet the worst, With a million-dollar coffin when we sink. Our hearts is in the fightin' tops; we're wishin' we was there A-doin' of our duty by the foe, But each must take his share And they couldn't hardly spare The Jackies wot's a-stokin' down below. So here's to them that's fightin'; Here's to the pilot, too; We trust 'em to be right in Any job they're out to do. Maybe we're to meet our matches But it's all past our control When they batten down the hatches While we shovel in the coal. l6 WAR-TIME ECHOES It ain't the bloomin' admirals; it ain't the commo- dores That the Spaniards is a wishin' for to-day, Nor yet the lads that handle ammunition out o' doors, Where you stand a little chance to get away. They've had fighters in their fam'lies and the cubs'll fight again, But they answered up most cautious-like and slow When it comes to askin' men To be huddled in the pen To be Jackies wot's a-stokin' down below. Says they: <( We'll do your fightin', But that locker ain't our size, Where you wedge the men so tight in }> Fur them Dagoes realize What uncertainty attaches To the fellers in a hole When they batten down the hatches While we shovel in the coal. Washington Star. THE KNIGHT IN YELLOW. WAR is on and I am going, Mary dear. It is largely of my doing I have kept the thing a-brewing, Kept the pot a-boiling, stewing For a year. PATRIOTIC POEMS 167 I talked loud when others hated To sail in, And my wrath was ne'er abated. Now it comes, somewhat belated, Comes the war I have awaited To begin. Yes, the haughty foe, we'll whale him, Fan him out. Our staunch Yankee lads '11 nail him, And our prairie boys '11 flail him, While our Southerners will impale him Without doubt. What is that? Just let me be, Darling one I am talking Cuba free Or Cuba slave, they'll never see Buzzard's meat made out of me You catch on ? One kiss, Mary, at the door Don't you cry And when cruel war no more Hovers over sea and shore, From Toronto I'll come o'er. There good-bye. D.F. Peffly. l68 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE WAY IN THE NAVY. (< DESTROY or capture the enemy's ships* the Com- modore hears the word, Nor as welcome a sound to his seaman ears in many a day's been heard; So up and away the squadron goes, the steam is crowded on ; The ocean hounds have taken their bounds to seek the wily Don! They seek him there, in his inmost lair, where he dreams he lies secure, And little they reck of the burly mine or the sly torpedo's lure. (< Find and grapple " the law they keep, they want no other chart; <( Destroy or capture >} enough for them the A and Z o' the art! And if you would know who told them so You'll find from the men, above or below, You'll find from friend and you'll find from foe <( It's a way they have in the navy ! J> <( Clear for action, w the signal waves ; with a cheer the men reply Not a man or a boy, from stem to stern, was afraid to do and die! With mighty leaps the squadron sweeps thro' the living hell of fire, And ever the foe, as the tempests blow, is nigher yet and nigher! PATRIOTIC POEMS 169 Boom ! roars the thirteen-incher now 'gainst the riven armor plate, The Gatling joins, in its searching way, in the seething hot debate (< They strike ! they strike ! " they run, they run they seek to save who can The pride of Spain is under the main, and it's twenty minutes' span! And if you should ask how the trick was done, How the fight was ended and how begun, You'll find, in fixing just how they won (< It's a way they have in the navy ! w See! see! they raise the signal flag to show their dire distress; Oh, bitter indeed must be the need when fighting men confess! Lower and lower sink their ships sore stricken of limb and breath And sudden around them leap the flames in a blaz- ing shroud of death. <( To the rescue, boys!" the Commodore waves but little need for the sign, For the boats shoot out, like living things, the length o' the Yankee line; Round and round the hulks they go, and round and round again, With never a care for the booty there for they're saving the lives of men! And if you should wonder why thus they go To succor and save a fallen foe, You'll find, with the men above and below <( It's a way they have in the navy! }) John Jerome Rooney, in New York Times. 170 WAR-TIME ECHOES MCKINLEY TO MILES. SEZ McKinley to Miles, sez he, Here's a job, shure, that's cut out for you. There's a cross-grained old Don In the town of San Juan, That I want y' to go an' do, Sez he, Sez McKinley, sez he, to Miles. Sez McKinley to Miles, sez he, I'll ax you to do th' thing quick, An' ye '11 not a bit vex us Ef you push in his plexus, Shure, y' know how to do thot same thrick, Sez he, Sez McKinley, sez he, to Miles. Sez McKinley to Miles, sez he, Give him wan on the joog-u-lar vein, An' a couple o' swats In th' thin o' th' slats, B' th' way o' remiberin' th' (< Maine," Sez he, Sez McKinley, sez he, to Miles. Sez McKinley to Miles, sez he, Don't fool wid th' son-of-a-gun, But keep at him, sez he, Till he's half fricassee; That's the kind of a job I want done, Sez he, Sez McKinley, sez he, to Miles. Philadelphia Evening Call. PATRIOTIC POEMS 171 THEIR DADDIE'S KIDS. I WAS sittin' and a thinkin' That we'd fallen in repute, That the young uns growin' around us Wasn't heavy on the shoot; I was thinkin' of the volunteers Of thirty years ago, And I'd kinder got it in my head That the young uns was too slow; That they hadn't got the git-up That me and you had then, And I feered the sneakin' Spaniard Wouldn't find them fightin' men ; But bless my soul and breeches, If every consarned kid Aint a featherin' in and lickin' em Jist like their daddies did. Why Dewey and his Yankee tars Down in Manila Bay, Cleaned out the Dons in pretty style Some time along in May; And the kids stood bravely to their guns And fired fast and true, Till Yankee shot on Spanish steel Played Yankee Doodle doo; And then, in thinkin' over it, I thought it might be luck; But now we know that Dewey won By downright Yankee pluck. 172 WAR-TIME ECHOES Why! they're our boys that's with him, And every mother's kid Is itchin' to git at 'em Just like their daddies did. And then, them there Rough Riders A chargin' up the hill Amid a storm of fire When the Spanish shot to kill; I tell you my old eyes watered An' I felt young once more, An' longed to be there with 'em Amid the cannon's roar. But they have no need of veterans, For blamed if every kid Don't feather in an' fight like smoke, Just like .their daddies did. Old Glory floats in triumph, The emblem of the free, O'er a hundred million freemen, On the masts in every sea ; An' when our pilgrimage is o'er, An' we're laid beneath the sod, We'll leave Old Glory with the boys, Who, by the help of God, Will keep it floatin' in the front, Where honor leads the way. For succeedin' generations Will produce the Yankee kid, Who'll always battle for the right Just like his daddy did. Prof. J. H. Br inker ho ff. PATRIOTIC POEMS 173 ANANIAS OUTDONE. Two ghastly shapes came stealing from A deep and ancient grave; They heard the never silent hum That marks the human wave. They heard the newsboys' strident shout, And one did stop and buy; And through the sheet thus hawked about, He scanned with eager eye. And as he read the headlines o'er His face grew peaked and pale, And when he'd read a little more He grasped the nearest rail. (< Sapphira, dear, }> he faintly cried, <( This war news, bold and brash, Convinces me we never lied Our record's gone to smash!" Cleveland Plain Dealer. 174 WAR-TIME ECHOES OUR SOLDIERS' SONG. When the destruction of Cervera's fleet became known before San- tiago, the soldiers cheered wildly and with one accord, through miles of trenches, and began singing The Star-Spangled Banner." SINGING (< The Star-Spangled Banner w In the very jaws of death! Singing 1 our glorious anthem, Some with their latest breath! The strains of that solemn music Through the spirit will ever roll, Thrilling with martial ardor The depths of each patriot soul. Hearing the hum of the bullets! Eager to charge the foe! Biding the call to battle, Where crimson heart streams flow! Thinking of home and dear ones, Of mother, of child, of wife, They sang <( The Star-Spangled Banner w On that field of deadly strife. They sang with the voices of heroes, In the face of the Spanish guns, As they leaned on their loaded rifles, With the courage that never runs. They sang to our glorious emblem, Upraised on that war-worn sod, As the saints in the old arena Sang a song of praise to God, David Graham Adee, in N. Y. Herald. PATRIOTIC POEMS 175 A NATIONAL HYMN. OUR Father in heaven, we hallow Thy name, In Thee is our trust placed, our confidence grounded, Defend Thou the right, to the righteous bring fame, But crush Thou all tyrants; may their arts be confounded. Free the suffering slave, And inspire every brave With courage and strength that is mighty to save. CHORUS For so shall the Star-Spangled Banner long wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. God bless our loved land, bless our President, too, Bless our army and navy, our judges and con- gress, Bless the people, O Lord, and bless all they do To enlighten the nations and help the world's progress. . Guide Thou all their ways, Grant them lengthening of days, And to Thee we'll give thanks, honor, glory, and praise. And when we in war shall be forced to engage, To free the oppressed or repel an invader, T7<5 WAR-TIME ECHOES Though millions her foes and though madness their rage, We'll not fear for our land if Thou do but aid her. So, Lord, for us fight, Pray defend Thou the right, And bring to those vict'ry who trust in Thy might. Detroit News- Tribune. * * * AT THE OLD STAND. THE man who used to stand around And tell why war should be begun, Who howled for gore long, long- before The evil to the ( Maine } was done Where is he now, oh, prythee, say ? Has he gone out to meet the foe ? Was he with those who marched away To lay the hated Spaniard low ? M Nay, he was not among the men Who shouldered arms and hurried out With vows to come home only when The tricky foe is put to rout The man who wanted blood to run Is here and howling as before; It seems * the fools at Washington J Ignore his plans for making war. w Anon. PATRIOTIC POEMS 177 THE RED CROSS. THEY, too, have heard the drum-beat, They follow the bugle's call, These who are swift with pity On the field where brave men fall. When the battle boom is silent, And the echoing thunder dies, They haste to the plain red sodden With the blood of sacrifice. The flag that floats above them Is marked with a crimson sign, Pledge of a great compassion, And the rifted heart Divine, That once for man's redemption, Knew earth's completest loss, These to the field of valor Bring love's immortal cross. And so they follow the bugle, And heed the drum-beat's call, But their errand is one of pity They succor the men who fall. Grand Army Advocate, 12 178 WAR-TIME ECHOES " THE RED CROSS ARMY NURSE, THE praises of the admirals are ringing everywhere; The plaudits of the generals are singing in the air; The men who sailed to sink their lives within the tt Merrimac }> (So dauntless they that even death was fearful to attack) ! The hard marines whose tactics knew no signal for retreat ; In the rain of Mauser bullets and the drench of tropic heat, The rough-and-ready riders in their resolute advance; All make our daily records a continuous romance. We cry them in our stories; we chant them in our verse, But let us sing a stanza for the Red Cross army nurse. She is in the foremost battle, she is in the rearmost tents, She wears no weapon of attack, no armor of defence ; She is braver than the bravest, she is truer than the true, She asks not if the soldier struck for red and white and blue, She asks not if he fell beneath the yellow and the red ; She is mother to the wounded, she is sister to the dead. The victor's cheers ring in her ears, but these she does not heed; The victim's moans and dying groans are given as her meed PATRIOTIC POEMS 179 And many a suffering hero chokes his blind and sullen curse To smooth it to a blessing for the Red Cross army nurse. Work on, O noble army, and the crown of crowns be yours, Not always shall destruction be the glory which en- dures. It is coming, it is coming; you are helping on the day When we learn the nobler action is to succor, not to slay: It is coming, it is coming; you are aiding it along, When we know the feeblest nation is as potent as the strong; , It is coming, it is coming ; you are bringing it to pass, When the ships have shed their armor and the for- tresses are glass; But in the stormy waiting till the armaments disperse, Our blessings on the flower of war the Red Cross army nurse! J, Edmund Vance Cooke. * * * MY WAR GIRL. SHE wore a dress of navy blue, The collar white and blue and red, A striped belt and stockings, too; A sailor hat was on her head. l8o WAR-TIME ECHOES Red, white and blue her chatelaine; She had a flag beneath her chin, She wore a badge U. S. S. Maine, A tiny cannon for a pin. She wore a shell-comb in her hair, With army buttons' all embossed; Some swords were also sticking there, And at her belt small rifles crossed. Her pocketbook was knapsack shape, Her smelling bottle a wee canteen Containing essence of <( Crushed Grape w The neatest thing I'd ever seen. Her face was patriotic, too, And full of everlasting charms; Her cheeks were. red, teeth white, eyes blue; She also had repeating arms. In fact, she was in * lighting trim," So an (< engagement >J I did seek ; And though my chance to win was slim, I cruised around about her cheek. Puff ! Suddenly she fired at me A perfect fusilade of smiles! It shook my heart "windward" to "lee." Re-echoing for miles and miles! My rapid-firing lips I turned Upon her then (for they were loaded), But when the fast-sent kisses burned, The powder on her, face exploded! James Courtney Challiss, PATRIOTIC POEMS l8l THE OLD MAN'S BOYS. a WE HAD two sons/ the old man said unto the lis- tening crowd, tt Two strapping husky boys of whom we was almighty proud. From infancy we watched 'em grow, an' tried to raise 'em right; An' all the neighbors used to say they was uncom- mon bright. In every class at school they stood almighty near the head, An' when they left their boyhood home admirin' people said They sure would make their mark in life; would some day write our name In characters that all could read upon the scroll of fame. (< We never dreamed that war'd come, in them bright, peaceful days, Or that the kids 'd want to go where warfires was ablaze, An' when the letter come that told that both of them would go My heart jest seemed a jumpin' lump o' pain, it hurt me so! I broke the news to mother in the gentlest way I knowed, An' it jest seemed to break us down, so heavy was the load. 1 82 WAR-TIME ECHOES An' in the apprehensive fear that mebbe they might fall, Our cup of agony seemed full of wormwood an' of gall! (< One of 'em is a lyin' now on Santiago Bay. An' one lies 'neath the tropic sun at Ponce, fur away, An' I've bin told a many a time by them as knows their worth, There ain't two more accomplished liars on top of God's green earth. No, sir, they are not boys in blue; they're far too smart, I think, To fight when they kin make a durned sight more a slingin' ink. They've too much savey in their heads for soldierin', I guess Both of 'em's correspondents fur the 'Sociated Press. }) Denver Post. * * * THE ABSENT BOY. THEY miss him in the orchard where the fruit is sun- ning over, And in the meadow where the air is sweet with new-mown hay, And all about the old farm which knew him for a lover, From the early seedtime onward till the crops were piled away. PATRIOTIC POEMS 183 They miss him in the village where nothing went without him, Where to-day the young folks' parties are dull and incomplete, They cannot just explain it, there was such a charm about him, The drop of cheer he always brought made com- mon daylight sweet. And now he's gone to Cuba, he's fighting for the nation, He's charging with the others, a lad in army blue. His name is .little known yet, but at the upland station, They all are sure you'll hear it before the war is through. And when you talk of battles, and scan the printed column, His regiment's the one they seek, his neighbors think and care; The more they do not speak of it, their look grows grave and solemn, For somewhere in the thick of strife, they know their boy is there. Margaret E. Sangster. 1 84 WAR-TIME ECHOES THE ONE WHO WONT BE THERE. I DON'T think I'll go in to town to see the boys come back; My bein' there would do no good in all that jam and pack; There'll be enough to welcome them to cheer them when they come A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat upon the drum They'll never miss me in the crowd not one of 'em will care If, when the cheers are ringin' loud, I'm not among them there. I went to see them march away I hollered with the rest, And didn't they look fine that day, a-marchin' four abreast, With my boy James up near the front, as handsome as could be, And wavin' back a fond farewell to mother and to me! I vow my old knees trembled so, when they had all got by, I had to jist set down upon the curbstone there and cry. And now they're comin' home agen! The record that they won Was sich as shows we still have men when men's work's to be done! PATRIOTIC POEMS 185 There wasn't one of 'em that flinched, each feller stood the test Wherever they were sent they sailed right in and done their best! They didn't go away to play they knowed what was in store But there's a grave somewhere, to-day, down on the Cuban shore! I guess that I'll not go to town to see the boys come in; I don't jist feel like mixin' up in all that crush and din! There'll be enough to welcome them to cheer them when they come, A-marchin' bravely to the time that's beat upon the drum, And the boys'll never notice not a one of 'em will care, For the soldier that would miss me ain't a-goin' to be there! Cleveland Leader. * * * THE MAN BEHIND THE TAPE. WE'VE praised the men behind the guns In story and in verse; The man behind the shovel, too, Was voted not so worse. We've praised the man behind the pans That cooked the fighters' lunch; 1 86 WAR-TIME ECHOES And now what have we for the man Behind the little bunch Of tape, Red tape? We've sung about the man behind The guns till we are hoarse; The man behind the smokestack has Been praised a bit, of course. The man behind the rolling-pin Has had his lyric hunch; And now what have we for the man Behind the little bunch Of tape, Red tape ? Baltimore American. * * * AN IMMORTAL CROWN. WITH dauntless breast, when Duty calls, He answers, <( Here ! }> and tho' he falls And dies, where war's harsh thunders roll, Death cannot fright his fearless soul. Up from the ills and cares of life; Up from the din of mortal strife, To find, beyond Death's frowning portal, A Victor's crown and life immortal. Anon. PATRIOTIC POEMS 187 WE LEFT HIM ON THE FIELD. THEY marched along the crowded street With faces brown and worn; The flag that o'er them waved its folds Was shell and bullet torn. <( What of my boy ? w a mother cried ! A soldier marching by Turned quickly when he heard the call, And caught that mother eye. (< What of your boy ? He was a man The kind that does not yield. He fell in Santiago's fight, We left him on the field. We left him on the field, Where Spanish foemen reeled. He died beneath his country's flag We left him on the field. We left him on that bloody field Beneath the tropic sun, And many a gallant boy lay there Before the day was done. We rushed their trenches, one by one, While bullets came like hail; Full many a brave lad bit the dust; But never one did quail. 'Gainst Spanish blood and Spanish guile Our hands and hearts were steeled 1 88 WAR-TIME ECHOES Your boy did all a hero could We left him on the field. We left him on the field, Where battling foemen reeled. He died a young American We left him on the field. The mother turned to leave the spot, With sobs that shook her frame. The glory of her country's flag To her was but a name. While people cheered the marching troops She stood with drooping head. She could not think, she could not speak Her boy her boy was dead! She slowly raised her face to heaven And silently appealed While through her brain still rang the words We left him on the field. We left him on the field, Where Spanish foemen reeled. Your boy was ours as well as yours We left him on the field. James Stuart Dzxon, in Detroit Tribune. PATRIOTIC POEMS 189 LAST TAPS. CARRY him out and put him away, Reveille no more wakes him now; We've sounded his last (< Lights out w to-day, And the dust has fallen on lips and brow; So leave him there, leave him there, resting still, With heed no more for retreat or drill. Lead his horse back to the camp again, Lead the beast kindly, for, don't you see, He frets at the guidance of other men He misses the press of familiar knee; So lead him back over the glaring sand Kindly, for sake of the other hand. Three volleys over the trooper's grave, And he moved no eyelid at noise of the three. Ave the first, to the soul of the brave, And the second <( God speed" from the com- pany, And the last said "Vale/ and then we turned And left him waiting what peace he had earned. We shed no tear and we make no moan For the man who has left us to rest a while. We pity him, lying there all alone, We recall old gesture and quiet smile; But why should we weep for him now, when he Wanted Lights out through eternity ? Theodore Roberts, in The Independent, 190 WAR-TIME ECHOES PEACE AT LAST. Now the war drum throbs no longer, And the battle-flags are furled; We exclaim in tones of rapture, (< We're at peace with all the world ! w Peace at last, in all our borders, Peace in all our wide domain; On the land and on the waters Peace at last with haughty Spain. Homeward soon the son and brother, Home the lover and the man. Friends will gladly hail their coming Some, alas! will wait in vain. Pitying angels hover o'er them, Kiss away their falling tears, Cheer the homes, so sad and lonely, Cheer their hearts through coming years. God of nations, we would praise thee! Freedom's battle fought and won! Broken every chain and fetter! Free the father and the son! May the isles so fair and fruitful, Where the Stars and Stripes shall wave, Be transformed, redeemed, uplifted Never calling man a slave. Blessed peace! We hail its coming, Bringing blessings in its train, PATRIOTIC POEMS 191 Blessings for the isles of ocean, Blessings yet, we trust, for Spain. May the Gospel's light and glory, Bid its sin and strife to cease, 'Till that land of ancient story, Welcomes in the Prince of Peace. Mrs. Mary JB. Wing ate. * * * WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME THERE'S a happy time coming, When the boys come home. There's a glorious day coming, When the boys come home. We will end the dreadful story Of this treason dark and gory In a sunburst of glory When the boys come home. The day will seem brighter, When the boys come home, For our hearts will be lighter, When the boys come home. Wives and sweethearts will press them In their arms and caress them, And pray God to bless them, When the boys come home. The thinned ranks will be proudest, When the boys come home, 192 WAR-TIME ECHOES And their cheer will ring the loudest, When the boys come home. The full ranks will be shattered, And the bright arms will be battered, And the battle-standards tattered, When the boys come home. Their bayonets may be rusty, When the boys come home, And their uniforms dusty, When the boys come home. But all shall see the traces Of battle's royal graces In the brown and bearded faces, When the boys come home. Our love shall go to meet them, When the boys come home, To bless them and to greet them, When the boys come home. And the fame of their endeavor Time and change shall not dissever From the nation's heart forever, When the boys come home. John Hay. * * * GIT ER SHOUTIINT. LISTEN, chillun, don' you' hear hit ? Daddy's savin* wah is don'. 'Pears lak some one ought ter cheer hit, Beat er drum, or shoot er gun. PATRIOTIC POEMS 193 Looks 'sif the rockets ought ter Get ter blazin' crost de sky, Caze our sojers up an' fought 'er, Lanxlin' Spain jes' high an' dry. Wen our sojers went to Cuba Drums they beat, an' bugles blowed, Everybody danced a juba, Sendin' Spain off down de road. Now we'se don' hit, w'at's de reason We don't celebrate for peace ? Reckon hit's er joyful season Wen dem spunky guns kin cease. Reckon dat er men er fightln' Mighty glad de wah is done; Glad ter see dern Spaniards kitin' Fast as dey kin scoot an' run. Lawsee, chillun, doan' you hear hit ? Wah is don' fer, peace is come; Yet dar hain't no one ter cheer hit, Ring er bells, an' beat er drum! Hi, you niggahs, get er scootin', Tote dat flag up yondah hill! Git you' hohns, an' set 'em tootin' Don' yo* dah ter keep 'em still! I'se so glad de wah is ober, Glad de fightin' gwine ter cease; Golly, chillun, wese in clober Git ter shoutin' now fer peace! j Detroit Journal. 194 WAR-TIME ECHOES WHEN THE FLAG COMES HOME, WHEN the flag comes home, when the streets are filled With the sound of marching feet; When the war drums cease and the sword is sheathed, And lips to lips repeat Tis the hero there from the battle's glare, Hurrah! for the brave and true, And hurrah for the flag, the grand old rag Of the Red and White and Blue ! When the cannon's roar is heard no more, When the soldiers from the fray Come back from the strife to babes and wife There'll be music down the way. And the ranks will hold the heroes bold With the flag above them sweet, As they march along to a welcome song, From the lips they long to greet. The flag that floats while a thousand throats Repeat its song of praise; The flag that led where the bullets sped Through the smoke of the battle haze; The flag that's the pride of the brave who died And sank to the soldiers' rest, With a sigh of love for the stars above. And it folds upon its breast. When the flag comes home, and it passes by, And the files march one by one, PATRIOTIC POEMS 195 The sun's bright ray will burn that day As it never yet has done; While the people's cheer will echo clear, And the banners wave on high, For the heroes true, dear land, for you That fought 'neath the tropic sky. When the flag comes home, will all be gay ? Will all whose loved were there Stand by to shout when the crowds turn out, Or whisper a lonely prayer? For the hosts may come, but the muffled drum Has played the dirges drear For heroes slain in the awful rain They faced without a fear. When the flag comes home some hearts will weep, And little eyes with tears Will fill for the thoughts of sorrows wrought For them through the long, long years, And a mother's ear no more will hear The step she used to know; And a widow's heart will beat apart In a grave where the lilies grow. But the flag, ah! sweet, down lane and street, When it comes from the fields of war, The people's cheer will echo clear And they'll love it more and more For the victories won 'neath the tropic sun, For the heroes stepping gay As the war drums beat and the thousands greet The ranks that marched away. 196 WAR-TIME ECHOES But better still, for the deeds that thrill The heart with tenderness, For the sad and lone who yearn and moan In vain for the dear caress Of a hand that lies 'neath the tropic skies With a musket in his grasp, And a little face with a smile of grace, In a locket's golden clasp. And better still for the brave and true. Who fell on the battle field, Who faced the fray in the hero-way And knew not how to yield; Who sank to sleep where the grasses creep, In the soldier's dreamless rest With a sigh of love for the flag above And its folds upon their breast. Anon. * * * PAX VOBISCUM. ALL hail the olive branch, borne to the ship of state ! Leonine lately seemed the nation roused; yet now Her countenance turns lamb-like as she doth await, To greet her sons returning to the shop and plow. From north and south, from east and west, they poured, When she had called their aid and bade them take the sword. PATRIOTIC POEMS 197 The din of battle o'er the blood-stained field hath ceased ; The smoke of conflict by the winds is wafted thence ; The cry for vengeance (strong it was) hath been appeased. 'Tis great, as conq'rors to condone a foe's offense; 'Tis greater still not to betray the hopeful trust Of hapless peoples, who have found deliverers just. <( Peace hath her victories, }) her Sabbath bells peal high, Although their chimes sound joyous, voicing naught but mirth, Yet hearts bereaved by war's ravages, passing by, Are minded of their losses sore and tears afresh burst forth. No festival can still the mourning for the dead, Or change to drops of joy the bitter tears they shed. The gentle touch of time alone may soothe such grief. Oh! nation, triumphant and strong in all thy pride, Bow humbly down, nor cease within thy heart's be- lief And creed of creeds to honor duly those who died On land and sea; the threefold priceless legacy Of honor, love, and life they gave to thee. Thomas E. Smiley, in Indianapolis Sentinel. 198 WAR-TIME ECHOES A HYMN OF VICTORY. IT is won! Silent musket, shell and gun. Flash the tidings east and west! Bells of all the Christian lands, Clap your mighty iron hands. Love has succored the distrest. War is done! Might was right In the fierce and stubborn fight! While the Stars waved o'er the fleet God was sitting on His throne. Freedom battled not alone; Lightnings from the judgment seat Smote men's sight! Praise be Thine, God of battle, Power Divine! We, Thy servants, at Thy word, Flung the banner Thou hast blest O'er the pleading and oppressed. Here, oh, Justice, is thy sword Red as wine! Now at last; Let the battle rage be past! To the foeman stricken sore Let us stretch the brother hand. Peace unto his troubled land, And an honored flag once more To his mast! Jame* Buckham, in Leslie's Weekly. PATRIOTIC POEMS 199 THE NEW UNITED STATES. THERE'S a bustle in Hawaii, There's a stir in the Ladrones; We may talk with Porto Rico Through long-distance telephones. And each morning at our doorway, With the ink still fresh and wet, Is laid down the last edition Of the Philippine Gazette. I've a girl in Honolulu, And another in San Juan ; And as latest Yankee lasses They are nice to look upon. While the maiden who in Skagway Was an acquisition rare Must resign, for in Manila I have one with longer hair. Mayaguez and Arecibo, Aguadilla what are these But the germs of Yankee cities Waking after centuries ? And we speak of Kahoolawe, Mindanao and Luzon In the same breath with Ohio, Massachusetts, Oregon. Comes a national election, And a people wait, intent, 200 . WAR-TIME ECHOES For the verdict of the ballot As to who is President. Then the thirty-second precinct Of the Island of Cebu, Boosts Schley Garcia Aguinaldo So he barely squeezes through. Rdwin L. Sab in. * * * TE DEUM LAUDAMUS. LORD, in this our triumph hour, Let us own Thy sovereign power. Not to us the praise belongs; Unto Thee the victor's songs. Thine the arm that struck the blow; Thine the conquest of our^foe; So to-day we raise to Thee Hymns of thanks on land and sea. Now that cannon roar no more, Now that clash of arms is o'er, On our lips Thy Name shall swell. In our hearts Thy Name shall dwell. In Thy hands the issue lay; Thou hast led us all the way; Then shall all the honor be, God of Battles! unto Thee. New York Tribune. PATRIOTIC POEMS 201 THE JOLLY OLD FLAG. THAR'S somethin' in the ripple of the flag that 'pears to me Means that Old Glory's confident, she's wavin' Victory ! The winds aroun' her sing it an' wing it overhead Thar's a kinder jubilation in her rumpled stripes o' red! Thar's somethin' in the ripple of the flag that 'pears to me Says: (< You jest keep the country and Dewey'll hold the sea! The winds aroun' her sing it to countryside an' town Thar's a kind of jubilation in the red stripes ripplin' down ! ' Somethin' in it, people! I never seen her so Peart-like an' tickled, when the wind makes up its mind to blow! I yell Hurrah ! She answers from the flagstaff on the shed With a reg'lar jubilation in her rumpled stripes o' red! Frank L, Stanton. 202 WAR-TIME ECHOES ON THE SEA THRONE. NOT yet the viking's hands are weak, Not yet his blood grown pale; Not yet his ship has turned her beak And spread a flying sail. Not yet the Iceland peak has thawed Before the southern sun; Not yet the man of gales has warred And left the field unwon. Not yet his hand, at close of fight, Has hauled the raven down; The gleam beneath the bird of night Is still the sea king's crown. Turn back, oh, southern man, thy prow; The viking bars the way. The berserk lines are 'thwart his brow; Tempt not his wrath this day. Long ages have the Iceland fires Lit up the northland pack; The viking's hand is as his sire's Turn back thy prow; turn back! For, till the old red blood flows white, And war-trained eyes are dim, The viking cheers at close of night; The triumph is for him! F.H. Costello, in Leslie's Weekly. PATRIOTIC POEMS 203 CHICKAMAUGA. THEY are camped on Chickamauga! Once again the white tents gleam On that field where vanished heroes Sleep the sleep that knows no dream. There are shadows all about them Of the ghostly troops to-day, But they light the common campfire Those who wore the blue and gray. Where the pines of Georgia tower, Where the mountains kiss the sky, On their arms the nation's warriors Wait to hear the battle cry. Wait together, friends and brothers, And the heroes 'neath their feet Sleep the long and dreamless slumber Where the flowers are blooming sweet. Sentries, pause, yon shadow challenge ! Rock-ribbed Thomas goes that way He who fought the foes unyielding In that awful battle fray. Yonder pass the shades of heroes, And they follow where Bragg leads Through the meadows and the river, But no ghost the sentry heeds. Field of fame, a patriot army Treads thy sacred sod to-day! 204 WAR-TIME ECHOES And they'll fight a common foeman, Those who wore the blue and gray, And they'll fight for common country, And they'll charge to victory 'Neath the folds of one great banner Starry banner of the free! They are camped on Chickamauga, Where the green tents of the dead Turn the soil into a glory Where a nation's heart once bled; But they're clasping hands together On this storied field of strife Brothers brave who meec to battle In the freedom-war of life! Baltimore News. * * * GOOD TIMES A-COMIN'. MARSE SAMPSON churned de ocean blue A-lookin' fo' he dunno who; From Habana to Martinique, Lo'd, how he make dem big guns speak! Dey said de ' Spanish gone to Cadiz, If he cotch dem dey'll go to Hades, And dar they'll think de wedder cool, To whar dey felt on dis footstool. PATRIOTIC POEMS 205 Ole Massa Dewey beat 'em all, He run 'em down and make 'em small; And in Manila now dey pray, (< Lo'd, take Marse Dewey clean away. M But jes you wait fo' ole Marse Lee; He'll show you somethin' wuth to see; And when his <( corn-fed w boys sing out, Dem Spaniards dey'll go up de spout. Sich times has nebber yet been seed, As sho' will come when Cuba's freed; Dis niggah'll shout in loud hosannas, (< Fi cent a duz f er fat bananas. ? Wid watemillions cent apiece, De trade will run as slick as grease; Den add de Guv'ment pensions, too, And we'll have no mo' wuk to do. With Miles, Joe Wheeler, Fitzhugh Lee, Togedder is a sight to see, Old Glory in de lead we say, (< My brederin, sistern, let us pray. w Rev. Old Uncle Sctpio. 206 WAR-TIME ECHOES A PRAYER. And in thy majesty ride prosperously, because of truth and meekness and righteousness ; and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things. Psalm XLV. ALMIGHTY God! eternal source Of every arm we dare to wield, Be Thine the thanks, as Thine the force. On reeling deck or stricken field; The thunder of the battle hour Is but the whisper of Thy power. Thine is our wisdom, Thine our might; Oh, give us, more than strength and skill, The calmness born of sense of right, Heroic competence of will To keep the awful tryst with death, To know Thee in the cannon's breath. By Thee was given the thought that bowed All hearts upon the victor deck, When high above the battle's shroud The white flag fluttered o'er the wreck, And Thine the hand that checked the cheer In that wild hour of death and fear. O Lord of love! be Thine the grace To teach amid the wrath of war, Sweet pity for a humbled race, Some thought of those in lands afar, Where sad-eyed women vainly yearn For those who never shall return. PATRIOTIC POEMS 207 Great Master of earth's mighty school Whose children are of every land, Inform with love our alien rule, And stay us with Thy warning hand If, tempted by imperial greed, We in Thy watchful eyes exceed, That, in the days to come, O Lord! When we ourselves have passed away, And all are gone who drew the sword, The children of our breed may say, These were our sires, who, doubly great, Could strike yet spare the fallen state. S. Weir Mitchell, M. D. * * * I WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN. From Harper's Weekly. Copyright, 1898. Harper and Brothers. New York Harbor, August 20, 1898. To EASTWARD ringing, to westward winging, o'er map- less miles of sea, On winds and tides the gospel rides that the further- most isles are free, And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill, Breaker and beach cry each to each, (< 'Tis the Mother who calls! Be still ! Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm, Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm, 20 g WAR-TIME ECHOES Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam, Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this time home! And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest; The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars, And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars ! Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannon- ade, Peace at last! is the bugle-blast the length of the long blockade, And eyes of vigil weary are lit with a glad release, From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is <( Peace ! Thank God for peace ! Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show The sons of these, who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go, How, when the stirring summons smote on her chil- dren's ear, South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered <( Here ! }> For the soul of the soldier's story and the heart of the sailor's song Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong, Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod, Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of -their country's God! PATRIOTIC POEMS 2O9 Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free, To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea, To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait, To run your ship- to the harbor's lip and sink her across the strait: But better the golden evening when the ships round head for home, And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam, And the people wait at the haven's gate to greet the men who win! Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come in! Guy Wetmore Carry L THE WERNER COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. SCENIC AMERICA. Or the Beauties of the Western Hemisphere. 256 half-tone pictures, with descriptions by JOHN I,. STODDARD. Size, 11x14 inches, 128 pages. Bound in cloth with handsome side stamp. Price, 75 cents. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF GENERAL NELSON A. MILES. The wonderful career of a self-made man. 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