The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)

Its father, Neptune, gives it right of way:
Amphibious, it rides the Ocean's crest,
Or in its sunken Gardens takes its rest.
This new-type boat we designate as It
Because no other pronoun seems to fit.
No water-laden craft could be a He,
Nor one unspoken could be rated She.
The Germans call it unter: O. U. Cargo!
They aim to close the bar on the embargo.
Beneath the waves no lurching doth it feel
But speeds its course upon an even keel.
With duplex engines and a double crew,
(It's "manned" by mermaids when it's hid from view).
It scoffs at dangers, tho they lurk around,
And shuts its eye to perils that abound.
There's scant spare space, but still its ribs enfold
A priceless cargo in its shallow hold.
Past hostile ships into a neutral haven,
It comes up smiling with all flags a wavin'.

But now these "Cargo Craft" throw off disguise
And cut our neutral throats: it's no surprise
That dastards, who as "scraps of paper" rate
Their solemn Treaties, would thus lie in wait
And murder innocents without emotion,
Making a shambles of the outraged Ocean.
Now lashed to fury, see the waves rebel
And sweep these Prussian Pirates down to Hell!
No longer neutral the Avenging Sword
Is in our hands to smite the Hun-hound horde.
The God of Joshua, in righteous wrath
Will, in its flight thru empyrean path,
Command the Sun to stop: it is His will!
Till Kultur be effaced—and not until.

AMERICA

America, Crusader in the Cause
Of Liberty, before thy shrine we pause
And offer grateful prayer that thou art Right
In making demonstration of thy Might.
Without a thought of Conquest doth thou draw
Thine honored sword for Liberty and Law,
That Nations of a common tongue, tho weak,
May gain the Peace with Freedom that they seek;
And occupy again, when battles cease,
Their places in the Firmament of Peace.
Fight on! Defender of the Cause! till Truth
Shall banish Tyranny and Wars forsooth,
And throttle Kultur and its godless School,
Till Teutons, purged, obey the Golden Rule!

LIFE AND LOVE

Life is the Echo of the Buried Past;
A Soul reclaimed, an Atom born anew:
Its fire burns on, tho flickering at the last,
And finds its grand fulfillment, Love, in you.

LIFE IN DEATH

Why should we dread the Messenger of Death?
Who comes as friend when sufferings beset,
And gives surcease of pain with final breath
So that Life leaves, rejoiced, without regret.

GERMANY

O, Hun, from what low beast didst thou descend?
That thou shouldst have the lust to kill and rend;
The bestial passion to enjoy the groans
Of suffering victims, while you crunch their bones
Or gouge their eyes, that mutely plead in vain
For quick oblivion and ease from pain?
Of ponderous cast and savage mien, what teat,
With Hatred filled and Passion's fiery heat,
Reared thee more wolf than man? ill-bred,—a curse
To thine own kind, and to the Universe!

ITALY

Italians, hold! Rienzi pleads again
Against the Tyrants: hold if ye be men!
Let not the foe despoil your fertile lands
Or wrest historic treasures from your hands!
Guard well your daughters! Shield your budding sons!
Lest they be maimed or murdered by the Huns.
Soldiers of Italy, would ye be slaves
To Teuton hordes? Behold the sacred graves
Of Garibaldi and your martyred dead
Who made ye Freemen! Wouldst be slaves instead?
The Alpine Passes that were yours are lost;
Your Northern Rivers have been reached and crossed;
Hold, Romans, hold! Halt further Teuton gains,
And drive their looting legions from your plains!
Hold! Men of Italy! Your wall of steel
Can save fair Venice from the Despot's heel:
Hold! Every man! for Honor, Country, Home—
And for the Glory of Eternal Rome!