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i*!AH«!J3 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
GAYLAMOUNT 
 
 PAMPHLET BINDER 
 
 ^3) 
 
 ^ 
 
 / 
 

i 
 
 "YANKEES ALL" 
 
 "PLEASE EXCUS-A ME' 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 DAMACAULIE 
 
 ALTTHOR OF 
 
 'Why I Hate You, Kaiser Bill* 
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 By D. A.^lac^ullay 
 
 1919 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Noveitv Adyertising Co., Seattle 
 
Gift of C. A. Kofoid 
 
q5^ 
 
 Alllfc 
 
 IXTRODUCTIOX 
 
 To THE Public. — 
 
 The surprising siiceces of my tlrsr aUcmpt as a "Vrriter 
 of Books" lias given m^^ courage to make another effort, 
 and, be it good or be it bad. if it oorns tbe ey^s of liouie, 
 brings the happy smile to others, or arouses a little more 
 interest in the brotherhood of man I will consider it a 
 success. 
 
 The dominant idea that I wish to convey is the fact 
 that no one was ever asked, be fori; he eam\ what country 
 he wanted to be born in, and accident of birth should never 
 make us point the finger of scorn at any one. 
 
 I noticed that when the boys came bark, that the troops 
 that marched through Tacoma were made up of all nation- 
 alities and colors, all Yankees, and all proud of it. 
 
 In my first book, "Why I Hate You, Kaiser Bill," I had 
 one piece that fits this one so well that I am repeating it 
 here, and, while on the subject of my first book I want to 
 say that if it were not for the kindness of Harry Hall, my 
 superintendent at the shipyard, A. M. Bendetson of Aber- 
 deen, Frank May, at the Cass Cigar Store, Aberdeen, and 
 
 MacKKee, with the Matteson Jewelry Co., I would not 
 
 have been able to print my book (you see I have been too 
 
 M 
 
 ivi337955 
 
m- 
 
 ■m 
 
 busy all my life to make money), and I now take the oppor- 
 tunity to express my thanks and gratitude. 
 
 For the publishing of this volume I have to thank Mr. 
 Will H. Smith, the Seattle cartoonist, and my sister, wife 
 of Q.M. Sergeant Leonard Badella, at Camp Lewis. You 
 see I am like one of the characters in one of my jingles: 
 "If you count success by doing things, Tim, I've succeeded 
 well, 
 I you count success by dollars. I'm a failure, sure as 
 
 H — ir 
 
 The poem, "Please Excuse-a Me," is a true story of the 
 war, told by a captain who had been wounded and saved 
 as described. 
 
 The conversation with the colored soldier occurred at 
 Camp Lewis, the colored boy had been wounded seven times 
 and had received a medal from three nations for bravery 
 in action. 
 
 Again thanking the public for the generous applause of 
 my first effort, I remain, till we meet again. 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Damacauije, 
 
YANKEES ALL 
 
 THE IRISH 
 
 There's a warm spot in my heart for dear old Ireland. 
 I would like to see her free from England's thrall; 
 
 I would like to see her be, 
 
 A land of liberty— 
 But Yankee land I love the best of all, 
 
 THE HIGHLANDER 
 
 I dearly lo'e auld Scotia's hills. 
 
 It's bonnie purple heather, 
 Where Miles I roamed in childhood's days, 
 
 In stormy and fine weather. 
 Now muckle chances hae I had, 
 
 To find a land to please me. 
 
 And from auld Britain's wjiys and laws, 
 
 My oath it did release me. 
 I bound myself to Uncle Sam, 
 
 Wiih oath, for I respect him, 
 And now I'll gladly fight and fa' 
 In elTorts to protect hini. 
 
 B' 
 
THE LATIN-AMERICAN 
 
 Whenever soildier-boy you want, 
 
 You call on us you find him; 
 And every one you send to war. 
 
 The bunch is right behind him, 
 AVe fight for our own Uncle Sam, 
 
 To help hira we are willing, 
 If some one try to kill him off, 
 
 They find us at the killing. 
 
 THE GERMAN 
 
 I left dot lant and came to dis. 
 
 To make a bedder liffing, 
 Und now I do the best I can, 
 
 Vv'hen efCery one iss gifling, 
 1 go und help dot soldier boys 
 
 To fight for Yankee Eagle, 
 I like dot dumpkoof Kaiser not — 
 
 My name iss Heinrich Spcigle. 
 
 THE NATIVE BORN 
 
 AVe are sons of Uncle Sam, 
 
 And we do not care a damn, 
 We can run and dance and fight 
 
 And shoot and ride. 
 AVc are willing for the fray, 
 
 Bo it fight or work or play. 
 You will find us in the conflict 
 
 Side by side. 
 
a 
 
 We Nvill give a helping hand, 
 
 To distress in any land, 
 All we want is one square deal — 
 
 From man and God. 
 Let some autocratic pup 
 Undertake to stir us up — 
 He will find some fighting devils 
 on the prod. 
 
 ALL TOGf:THER 
 
 Uncle gaze on us and smile, 
 
 "We are with you all the while. 
 No matter what our color — 
 
 Race or birth : 
 We will crush the traitor here. 
 
 Other nations far and near. 
 Will respect us in all corners— 
 
 Of the earth. 
 
 Do you want some one to work ? 
 
 We our duty do not shirk, 
 We produce the thing's you need- 
 
 From year to year. 
 Do you want an army grand. 
 
 In this or foreign land ? 
 If you want us, sound your bugle. 
 
 Vv'e'll be here. 
 
 33- 
 
THE REASON I DID IT 
 
 The bothering thought to my mind comes stealing. 
 
 As I sit alone at the close of the day, 
 It comes in rhyme, so in rhyme I write it. 
 
 And plain and clear it seems to say: 
 "Why take such pride in the work you're doing? 
 
 Why have such pride for the things you've done? 
 Why say, 'Look there, it was I that did it'? 
 
 And look at the thing 7 have just begun." 
 
 "Don't you know, hy yourself you could not accomplish 
 
 A single thing that you try to dof 
 Don't you know, that the world has been working for ages. 
 
 To produce an incompetent thing like you?" 
 You are using the thoughts of bygone ages; 
 
 As well as the thoughts of the folks today; 
 For all that you meet are fools and sages, 
 
 "The same as yourself, in a dijjerent ivay." 
 
 "You attune your mind by careful study, 
 
 You seldom think, when you think you do; 
 That thought was in space for countless ages, 
 
 Your mind was attuned, and it came to you." 
 The Creator gave you a mind and body, 
 
 A will to do and a soul to dare; 
 A world of people around to teach you, 
 
 And Nature's garden of flowers fair." 
 
-a 
 
 He gave you a heart to beat in sorrow. 
 
 For a neighbor's grief; or to beat for joy 
 With the mother's smile, or the children's laughter; 
 
 And a conscience that wrong will ever annoy.' 
 "You ask who I am? Well then I'll tell you; 
 
 I'm the talent he gave you to use through life. 
 Now I'm impatient — I've been neglected, 
 
 "WTiile you were mixed in the world's mad strife.' 
 
 '•Your heart and mind are full of sorrow 
 
 For the world-wide grief and humanity's pain; 
 Then take up your pen and write, man, write it. 
 
 Don't sit and weep for the raped and slain." 
 1 will give you loords, but you'll have to use them, 
 
 When I give you a thought do not lay it aside, 
 But write it, get busy, and teach it and preach it. 
 
 And scatter it out o'er the world so wide." 
 
 So blame me not for the things I'm writing, 
 Nor praise too much if the thoughts are good. 
 
 Just thank the power that gave the talent, 
 And know I did it the best I could. 
 
DO IT NOW 
 
 Would you buy some sweet flowers to lay ou my coffin? 
 
 Then, instead, take the money that for them you'd pay 
 And give to the poor suffering people around here, 
 
 'Twould please me far better than any bouquet. 
 
 Would you say some kind word for the one that's departed? 
 
 And praises of virtue heap on my poor head, 
 Then give me my full mead of praise while I'm living 
 
 I don't care a damn what you do when I'm dead. 
 
 Raise no bright marble shaft to show folks where I'm lying 
 In some quiet nook place me under the sod, 
 
 And there I will lie in my grave well contented, 
 My body with nature, my soul with it's God. 
 
 Do not pray for my soul. I have lived as I listed, 
 
 I knew right from v.roiia:, and I went my own way. 
 
 You can't change one line of God's laAv of transgression, 
 No matter how much or how little you pray. 
 
 m 
 
 
 
PLEASE EXCUS-A ME 
 
 ■m 
 
 While but a lad, and walkiixg out. 
 
 I met a newsboy there. 
 He'd smiling eyes and swarthy skin 
 
 And black and curly hair. 
 I said, "You Wop, a paper quick." 
 
 "I not a Wop," said he, 
 ••I Yankee boy, the same as you, 
 
 So please txcuse a mo." 
 
 I bought his papers every day 
 
 Till I a man became. 
 And Joe, from chubby newsboy grew 
 
 To manhood's rugged frame. 
 One day I saw Joe standing straight, 
 
 A cop was by his side, 
 A mob around them on the street, 
 
 I joined its surging tide. 
 
 Then asked the cop, "What made you fight? 
 
 That's what I want to know." 
 "That fella call-a me Wop," 
 
 Said smiling newsboy Joe. 
 "Nobody ask me when I'm born, 
 
 On which side of the sea; 
 So I can't help it where I'm born, 
 
 So please escus-a me." 
 
ffi- 
 
 I told the cop, "Please let him go, 
 
 I know he's square and true." 
 Joe said, "You're kind, I thank you, sir. 
 
 Some day I pay-a you." 
 The country called, I volunteered 
 
 As Captain of some men, 
 And newsboy Joe, a raw recruit, 
 
 I met him, now and then. 
 
 "Hello! You, Joe. You're here," 1 said, 
 
 "I'm glad to see you came." 
 Then answered Joe (it made me stand 
 
 And hang my head in shame), 
 "In Yankee land they brought me up. 
 
 And made a man of me; 
 So now I fight for Uncle Sam, 
 
 So please excus-a me." 
 
 They called him Wop, but learned in time. 
 
 That he was Tiiayi clear through; 
 And with his hands, in many a bout. 
 
 He taught them lessons, too. 
 When he had won he stood and smiled; 
 
 "I Yankee boy," said he. 
 Nobody call-a me a Wop, 
 
 So please exeus-a me.^ 
 
 12 
 
We charged the Germaus on the run, 
 
 We gained our point, and then — 
 Ten thousand fighting devils came 
 
 Anr fought our worn out men: 
 The bugle sounded the recall, 
 
 A bullet laid me low, 
 I looked and standing by my side 
 
 Was smiling newsboy Joe. 
 
 "Why don't you go? You heard the calL' 
 "You're wounded, sir," said he, 
 
 "I guess I take-a you to camp, 
 So please excus-a me." 
 
 He picked me up and started out, 
 
 Across that seething hell; 
 With straining lungs, and sobbing breath, 
 
 And once, he stumbling, fell. 
 He 'rose again and started on; 
 
 "I cannot help," said he, 
 "Be'(iuse-a something hit my breast ^ 
 
 So please excus-a me." 
 
 '%. 
 
 1^^ 
 
 ^A 
 
 
 ""^^^p 
 
 
 ^Wi 
 
 ■J 
 
G9- 
 
 JoG fainting fell; they took him up 
 
 With gentle, loving care. 
 Next day, in cot across from mine, 
 
 I saw him lying there. 
 He met my glance, his pale lips smiled. 
 
 "We made it, sir," said he, 
 "My wound, he got your clothes all blood, 
 
 But please excus-a me. 
 
 For weeks the fight with death went on. 
 
 At length death Tanquished, fled; 
 And Joe, a haggard, tottering ghost. 
 
 Out in the air was led. 
 Joe soon grew strong, and I was well, 
 
 And then the war was o'er; 
 Joe cheered the loudest of us all 
 
 When 'rose th« Yankee shore. 
 
 "Shut up, you wop," a soldier said, 
 
 Joe swinging laid him low, 
 The man, an officer of rank. 
 
 Struck down by newsboy Joe. 
 "My God," I cried, ''what hiive you done?'^ 
 
 "I cannot help," said he, 
 "That fella eall-a me a wop, 
 
 So please excus-a me." 
 
I told this officer the tale 
 
 Of what our Joe had done. 
 He smiled and answered, ''Setid him here. 
 
 The nervy san-of-a-gun:* 
 Joe came. They stood there face to face. 
 
 The Major gave a sigh 
 And said, "I got it from a man. 
 
 I'm proud of that black eye." 
 
 "You've broken rules, but I'm the blame. 
 
 No charges will I bring; 
 I broke them, too, in calling names. 
 
 (You've got an awful swing.) 
 You did just right, I find no fault, 
 
 Will you shake hand^r said he. 
 '7 will, Vm Yankee same as you. 
 
 So please excus-a me.'* 
 
 Now, if you're walking on the street. 
 
 And see a newsboy there. 
 If I'm around, just take my tip 
 
 And always treat him fair. 
 And if you call him slurring names, 
 
 Take my advice and stop. 
 Unless you want to figM like hell. 
 
 Don't call that hoy a wop. 
 
fi 
 
 "MY CHURCH^ 
 
 Why should I go to a dismal dwelling, 
 
 Vv'here a cheerful smile must never strar, 
 To hear of the tortures that God gives sinners. 
 
 And the terrible things of the Judgment Day? 
 When all outside is God's own dwelling. 
 
 He needs no artist to paint his walls. 
 Needs no mechanics to groin his arches, 
 
 He needs no tapestries in his halls. 
 
 He needs no organ to peel an anthem. 
 
 Nor priest nor preacher to kneel in prayer, 
 For the word and the look, and the act of kindness 
 
 And the deed of Love are to Him more fair. 
 You may preach of your book, called the Holy Bible, 
 
 Your Word of God, your book divine, 
 It was penned in the tongue of a foreign people 
 
 And then translated into mine. 
 
 God wrote no Greek when he published Xaturc. 
 
 He knew no "isms" and knew no creed, 
 Tliis Word of God needs no translation. 
 
 He has printed it plain, that all may read. 
 For in every field where flowers are blooming, 
 
 Where the grass is green and the sun shines bright 
 When the thunders crash and the lightning flashes, 
 
 You see God's beauty and strength and might. 
 
 16 
 
-m 
 
 When you have broken the laws of Nature, 
 
 You've offended God in his holy hall, 
 And you pay the price for your selseless folly 
 
 Nor need you wait for the trumpet call. 
 If I were as pure as a spotless virgin, 
 
 Where never a thought of vice did stray, 
 And went to Heaven to gain admittance 
 
 And knew not Christ I'd be turned away. 
 
 But if I were as black as Satan is painted. 
 
 And had steeped myself in vice and sin, 
 If you asked me the price, and I said Christ paid it, 
 
 I could kneel in prayer and Heaven Vv-in. 
 Is this the creed you teach your children? 
 
 Oh, better far if they run and play, 
 In the woods and fields and the blessed meadows, 
 
 Where they meet God face to face each day. 
 
 Not the terrible God you preach in churches. 
 The God of venegance, to fear and dread, 
 
 But the pure and holy God of Nature, 
 
 Who gives us freely our daily bread. 
 
 So I refuse to accept your teachings, 
 
 I'll take the teachings of Nature's plan, 
 
 I'll try my best, as far as I'm able. 
 To do my duty and act the man. 
 
 B 
 
■m 
 
 I need no organ to sing God's praises, 
 
 Nor priest or preacher his truth to tell, 
 I'll help distress where e'er I find it 
 
 And take my chances on Heaven and Hell. 
 We were placed on earth to help each other, 
 
 With deeds and words of love and cheer, 
 If we do this, as Nature tells us, 
 
 The Hell that they preach we need not fear. 
 
 If we are true and our minds untrammeled, 
 By forms and creeds and vicious strife, 
 
 We may live our days, by Nature numbered. 
 And go in peace to eternal life. 
 
 !8 
 
Q- 
 
 WHAT MOSEE SAID 
 
 Hello! Mose- I wish you would tell me 
 
 How you felt in the battle's wild roar, 
 Of brave acts of heroes around you. 
 
 With men going down by the score, 
 "Well, boss, I sure caint tell you nothin', 
 
 Nothin' 'cept when we went back to rest. 
 How we cussed at de mud and de cooties, 
 
 I remembers dat part of it best." 
 
 But, Mose, you are wearing a medal, 
 
 You must have been brave over there, 
 Of the charging, and fighting and rescue. 
 
 You must have done all of your share. 
 "Well, yes, dats what all the folks tell me, 
 
 I done did some t'lngs over dare, 
 But I was so gol hammered busy, 
 
 I oain't tell wh<it happened or where." 
 
 Well, tell me of some certain battle, 
 
 And the way that you felt in the fight; 
 That time that you charged on the trenches 
 
 And put all those Germans to flight? 
 "Dat time, well de Captain done tole us, 
 
 'Be ready to charge dem at ten,' 
 We went over de top In a body, 
 
 I don't know what Hell is till den." 
 
 9- 
 
 19 
 
"Now / know, for I'se been dere and troo it, 
 
 I'd suah hate to see it again, 
 That suah was the place of damnation, 
 
 And God, how dey mowed down the men.** 
 When I saw men go down all aroun' me, 
 
 Heard the screamin' of shells in de air. 
 An' knew I must go troo it fightin', 
 
 I was scaled from my toes to my hair.''* 
 
 But they tell me that you were a hero. 
 
 And cut your way right through the line, 
 That they had to use force to detain you 
 
 And keep you from crossing the Rhine. 
 "Well, boss! I guess dat dey grabbed me, 
 
 And made me come back from de fight. 
 But I know I was scaled, man I tell you, 
 
 I was scaVd till I almost turned ichite.'* 
 
 "De preachers dey tell you dat Hell is 
 
 A place where de wicked folks go. 
 Dat isnt no Hell, I know better, 
 
 I just come from dare and I know. 
 Yes, sah. Hell! DaVs a place full of Gerrmins, 
 
 A?id gas, liquid fire and shell. 
 And 'bullets, and bombs and explosions, 
 
 And dead men in pieces, dat^s Hell.'* 
 
 -bl 
 
B- 
 
 ■m 
 
 "In de fight I saw an explosion, 
 
 My bunkie went up in de air, 
 Dats de last dat I saw of my bunkie, 
 
 Because dere was none ob him dere. 
 Dat's when I got mad in dat battle, 
 
 And something went wrong in my haid, 
 And den when de fight was all ober 
 
 Twenty Germans was laying dere daid." 
 
 "Me kill 'em? Huh-uh, / didn't kill 'em. 
 
 Dey killed their fool selves every one, 
 Dey got kinda foolish and reckless, 
 
 A?id run right up onto my gun. 
 Me afraid? No, sah, dat ain't de feelin', 
 
 I'se 'fraid when I goes out at night. 
 And has to go home by de grabeyard, 
 
 When I'se sca'ed, mistah, dafs when I fight." 
 
 'I want to kill dem darn Germans, 
 
 I wanted to get dat fight done, 
 I was saving dis boy for his mammy, 
 
 I knew dat she loved her black son. 
 Would I go back to war if I'se needed? 
 
 I'd rather stay just where I am. 
 You mean, tcould I go? Don't ask Mosee, 
 
 Gojcan dere. ou ask Uncle Sam." 
 
 21 
 
-B 
 
 THE SOCIAL GLASS 
 
 This curse of the world is kuown to ail, 
 And this is one reason the people fall — 
 
 From the heights of grace to the depths of sin, 
 Why virtue is lost and vice gets in. 
 The worm of the still with it's breath of flame — 
 At it's door, my friend, you may lay the blame. 
 
 Ycu will see a girl who is led with care, 
 
 Past the gates of sin with it's deep dispair, 
 Past lust and vice and to virtue true, 
 
 She is taught great things in this world to do. 
 You see her stumble and see her fall, 
 
 Till her name is scorned by one and all. 
 But for poverty's curse or the social glass, 
 
 The thing would never have come to pass. 
 
 You will see a mother bring up a son, 
 
 And watch his youthful frolic and fun. 
 She gazes with pride and a mother's joy, 
 
 On her honest, manly, upright boy. 
 Then the snare is set and he enters in — 
 
 Through the gates of vice to the home of sin * 
 And poverty's curse, or the social glass. 
 
 You may blame, or it never had come to pass. 
 
 ■^ 
 
-aa 
 
 You will see a man who is noble and great, 
 
 Who is honored by the church and state, 
 Or' the people's love he has made a throne — 
 
 He stands above them, grand, alone. 
 You see him from his pedestal fall, 
 
 And the sweets of life turn bitter as gall, 
 The social glass with it's breath of flame, 
 
 At its door, my friends, you may lay the blame. 
 
 Ob, Morhf r! Why do you weep and moan? 
 
 Oh, Father! Why do you sigh and groan? 
 For a daughter fallen? Or one that's gone? 
 
 Tis the social glass that has led them on. 
 The cheering smile of a seeming friend. 
 
 The social glass, then this awful end. 
 But with poverty's curse, and the social glass. 
 
 Such things eternally come to pass. 
 
 S- 
 
WHAT JESUS TAUGHT ME 
 
 You preach of a Christ who died on the tree, 
 To save such sinners as you and me. 
 
 Reviled and tortured and laid in the grave, 
 All this and more, the world to save. 
 
 You forgot his teachings and worship the man; 
 He taught and preached a dffierent plan. 
 
 He said not, worship Me when I'm dead, 
 
 "But feed my lambs" is what he said. 
 "Heal the sick, and the fallen raise, 
 
 Love one another, the Father praise, 
 Call no man 'master,' for brothers are ye, 
 
 Know the truth, it will make you free." 
 For Christ was a man like you and I, 
 
 Suffered the torture and had to die, 
 For a new idea that he proclaimed, 
 
 His soul was tortured. His body maimed. 
 Scorned and abused by the rich and great. 
 
 Eternally teaching, early and late. 
 But at last he was taken and crucified. 
 
 And there at the close of day he died, 
 Killed because he to the temple went, 
 
 And the booths of the money changers rent, 
 The seats of the sellers of doves tore down 
 
 24 
 
 -9 
 
^ 
 
 s 
 
 And scourged them into the streets of tov. n. 
 He taught that the change for good must come 
 
 From within yourself, that no animal dumb 
 Could be sacrificed to pay the price 
 
 Of acts of folly and sin and vice. 
 Repent and pray if you'd Heaven win, 
 
 The shedding of blood pays not for sin. 
 And ye who seek the Kingdom of God, 
 
 It is easy to find, remember this. 
 That the teacher said, "Not beyond the skies. 
 The Kingdom of God within you lies. 
 
a- 
 
 WITHOUT WARDING 
 
 It will come to us some day, 
 We can fight it as we may, 
 But it will not stay away. 
 
 Noon nor night or morning. 
 V/ith its eyes so bright and true 
 And the love-light shining through. 
 Shines on me, or else on you; 
 
 Love comes without warning. 
 
 We can hide ourselves away 
 From the light of God's bright day 
 We may laugh or mourn or pray 
 
 From the night till morning; 
 But true love will find us out. 
 Greet us with a merry shout. 
 And our miseries it will rout; 
 
 J.ove <cir.es without v.arning. 
 
 20 
 
 •lij 
 
■9 
 
 THE SWEDE YANKEE 
 
 Aye bane born one tim in Swaden, 
 Life dare lal aye was a man, 
 Den aye cam to States Unitad, 
 Wid das laws a different plan, 
 
 Wark som yar in Minnesota, 
 Den aye com to Puget Sound, 
 
 Save das money aye mak working, 
 Bay a little piece of ground. 
 
 War declared, mae boy inlisted. 
 Girl she yoin das Red Cross, too, 
 
 Aye go doun an yoin das home-gard, 
 Aye bane Yankee same as you. 
 
 Aye bay bons an aye bay trift stamp, 
 Play des Yankee poker game. 
 
 Call mae roondhad, call mae squarliad, 
 Aye bane Yankee yust the same. 
 
 Aye no more go back to Swaden, 
 Kingdom aye don't lak to sae, 
 
 Land of laughing fighting Yankee, 
 Sha bane good enough for mae. 
 
HEROES 
 
 Two babies were born to mothers fair, 
 
 And grew up side by side, 
 Not good, not bad — but just all boy, 
 
 To love and train and guide. 
 They were taught the glory of doing good 
 
 And the love of home and land. 
 This great republic to them was all, 
 
 They obeyed it's least command. 
 
 When war broke out, both volunteered. 
 
 And Jimmie was sent to France, 
 But Jack — they told him his feet were fiat. 
 
 To go he had no chance. 
 So Jimmie was put in a uniform, 
 
 And sent to the war's wild hell. 
 And Jack went to work in the powder plant. 
 
 And both did their work quite well. 
 
 And Jimmie was buried in far off lands, 
 
 He died in doing his best, 
 He died in saving his "bunkie's" life. 
 
 And now in peace doth rest, 
 And Jack — Jack died in the powder plant, 
 
 A worker had slipped and fell. 
 And Jack, in saving his comrade's life, 
 
 I oirt his in that liquid hell. 
 
 28 
 
B- 
 
 Now all that died on the battle front 
 
 Are heroes and great and good, 
 We praise the wonderful things they did. 
 
 And I know it's right, we should. 
 But come, wake up, take off youh hats 
 
 To all who did their best, 
 For the one who was killed in making a shell 
 
 Is a hero like all the rest. 
 
 The ones who died to furnish supplies 
 
 And feed the whole uorld. too. 
 Are heroes great as any who died 
 
 Across the ocean blue. 
 But boys, let us care for the living today, 
 
 They need it, when all is said, 
 Let us do our part to bring one more smile. 
 
 GOD WILL TAKE CARE OF THE DEAD. 
 
 29 
 
 ^'^ 
 
 
 X'mlA^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 #.^1 
 
 & ^ 
 
 i».-''S/^ 
 
 7^ 
 
 
 * 
 
GB- 
 
 -m 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 I had a bonny, loving lad, 
 
 A rugged, fearless, honest boy; 
 
 He'd fight or play — 'twas all the same — 
 So full of life and vim and joy. 
 
 I saw him at the hour of noon, 
 I went to work, and he to play, 
 
 I sat beside his deathbed there, 
 
 That night, he died before the day. 
 
 And now I mourn, for well I loved 
 My bonny lad, so good and fair, 
 
 I've other lads, I love them well — 
 But none can fill his vacant chair. 
 
 He smiled and said, "Good bye" and died, 
 I sobbed in misery and in pain, 
 
 'Tis only just in dreams of sleep, 
 I see ray bonny boy again. 
 
 3:( 
 
s- 
 
 -a 
 
 Again I see his smiling face. 
 
 And hear him shout his loud Halloo! 
 Again I see his merry glance, 
 
 Jlis eyes with love-light shining through. 
 
 My curse upon the hand of he — 
 
 Who sped the shot and laid him low, 
 
 My God! Oh, why should such things be? 
 My bonny lad, I loved him so. 
 
 I loved too well, and so my grief 
 For him will live 'till life is o'er; 
 
 But this I know, his "Hello, dad!" 
 Will greet me on the other shore. 
 
 i 
 
 31 
 
GAYLAMOUNT 
 
 PAMPHLET BINDER 
 
 Manufactured by 
 
 6AYLORD BROS. Inc. 
 
 Syracuse, N. Y. 
 
 Stockton, Calif.