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

Will not be guarded to the very end.
Tho Hercules the Strong should heave in sight
And challenge us to tests of thews and nerve,
We'd enter the arena in our might
And win new honors for the Land we serve;
For Antaeus and all the myths of old
'Gainst whom the supermen of yore engaged,
Were never half so mighty, half so bold
As peaceful freemen, righteously enraged:
And all the modern Bullies who presume
To dominate the world against the Right,
Must see their day-dreams doomed to blackest gloom
When Truth prevails against the Imps of Night.
So let us fabricate in forge and mill;
So let us plant and nurture grain and seed;
So let us labor and conserve until
There be an end to Kultur's cruel creed.
Each one of us must fight or toil or save;
Co-ordination be our battle song;
Hardships endure and gravest dangers brave
If we would victors be and right the wrong.
God's ways to mortal eyes are not revealed,
But Faith our guidance is thru War's grim task,
And with His help the Hosts of Sin must yield
And Satan be denuded of his mask.

HE'S ALL RIGHT, BUT—!

I like the good old-fashioned way—
A handshake or a slap,—
The boys who jab your ribs and say
"You're all right, Bill, Old Chap!"

I like the lad who sees you first
And always shouts your name,—
Who, tho your luck be at its worst,
Says—"Cheer up, Bill! Be game!"

I like the chum who's always glad
To soothe you when you're ill,—
Who, when he finds you broke and sad,
Says—"Here's a Dollar, Bill!"

I'd like to grab him by the throat
And hold his mouth tight shut,—
Who, questioned, makes you out the goat—
"Who? Bill? He's all right, but—!"

NATURE'S STUDIO

Go where the winds keep vigil o'er the trees,
Rocking the tender saplings in the breeze;
Go where the sunbeams play on rill and stream,
Making the purling waters all agleam;
Go where the birds rehearse their songs and trills
In cool retreats, led by the Whippoorwills;
Go where the bees, midst clover blooms, indulge
Their honey habit till their bellies bulge;
Go where the trout, in alder-arbored brooks,
Abate their hunger but eschew the hooks;
Go where the flowers, by fairy weavers spun,
Pour out their grateful incense to the Sun;
Go where the deer in secret nooks disport
And Nature, clad in verdure, holds her Court;
Go where—nay, stay! Yonder the artist stands,
With brush and prismy palette in her hands,
Before her easel, where the canvas seems
A masterpiece in wondrous color schemes.
What artistry! What fascinating views
Dame Nature paints! Behold the rainbow hues
That tint the dainty flowers and make the rose
Blush to its sepals when it seeks repose;
That tinge the moors and fields and turquoise sky,
And stain the Autumn leaves with crimson dye!
So tarry here, where moss and bluebells grow
Upon the floor of Nature's Studio!

PICARDY

With heads uncovered and with cautious tread
Approach ye here! where lie our martyred dead
In graves unmarked, here, there and everywhere:
So lest, ashamed, ye trample them, beware!

AMERICA'S PRAYER

God bless our Allies! damn the Huns!
And consecrate our swords and guns!

EPILOGUE

They say that a stitch that is timely saves nine:
You haven't your needle? O, well then, take mine;
And all my Dream Outfit—my pipe and my dope!
I've smoked my last hemp to the end of my rope.

notes

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