Patriotic pieces from the Great War. Edna D. Jones

      —Anthony Euwer

      IN FLANDERS FIELDS

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      For other versions of this work, see In Flanders Fields.

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      IN FLANDERS FIELDS

      Permission of the New York Times

      In Flanders fields the poppies blow

       Between the crosses, row on row,

       That mark our place; and in the sky

       The larks still bravely singing fly,

       Scarce heard amidst the guns below.

       We are the dead. Short days ago

       We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

       Loved and were loved, and now we lie

      ⁠In Flanders fields.

       Take up our quarrel with the foe,

       To you from failing hands we throw

       The Torch—be yours to hold it high;

       If ye break faith with us who die,

       We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

      ⁠In Flanders fields.

      —Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae

      THE SERVICE FLAG

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      THE SERVICE FLAG

      Permission of the author

      Dear little flag in the window there,

       Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer;

       Child of Old Glory, born with a star—

       Oh, what a wonderful flag you are!

       Blue Is your star in its field of white,

       Dipped in the red that was born of fight;

       Born of the blood that our forebears shed

       To raise your mother, The Flag, o'erhead.

       And now you've come, in this frenzied day,

       To speak from a window—to speak and say:

       "I am the voice of a soldier-son

       Gone to be gone till the victory's won.

       "I am the flag of The Service, sir;

       The flag of his mother—I speak for her

       Who stands by my window and waits and fears,

       But hides from the others her unwept tears.

       "I am the flag of the wives who wait

       For the safe return of a martial mate,

       A mate gone forth where the war god thrives

       To save from sacrifice other men's wives.

       "I am the flag of the sweethearts true;

       The often unthought of—the sisters, too.

       ​I am the flag of a mother's son

       And won't come down till the victory's won!"

       Dear little flag in the window there,

       Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer;

       Child of Old Glory, born with a star—

       Oh, what a wonderful flag you are!

      —William Herschell

      PEACE WITH A SWORD

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      PEACE WITH A SWORD

      By permission of the author

      Peace! How we love her and the good she brings

      ⁠On broad, benignant wings!

       And we have clung to her, how close and long,

      ⁠While she has made us strong!

       Now we must guard her lest her power cease,

       And in the harried world be no more peace.

      ⁠⁠Even with a sword,

      ⁠⁠Help us, O Lord!

       For us no patient peace, the weary goal

      ⁠Of a war-sickened soul;

       No peace that battens on misfortune's pain,

      ⁠Swollen with selfish gain,

       Bending slack knees before a calf of gold,

       With nerveless fingers impotent to hold

      ⁠⁠The freeman's sword.

      ⁠⁠Not this, O Lord!

       No peace bought for us by the martyr dead

      ⁠Of countries reeking red;

       No peace flung to us from a tyrant's hand,

      ⁠Sop to a servile land.

       Our Peace the State's strong arm holds high and free,

       "The placid peace she seeks in liberty,"

       ​⁠⁠Yea, "with a sword."

      ⁠⁠Help us, O Lord!

       O Massachusetts! In your golden prime,

      ⁠Not with the bribe of time

       You won her; subtle words and careful ways

      ⁠In perilous days.

       No! By your valor, by the patriot blood

       Of your brave sons poured in a generous flood;

      ⁠⁠Peace, with a sword!

      ⁠⁠Help us, O Lord!

       Bring out the banners that defied a king!

      ⁠The tattered colors bring

       That made a nation one from sea to sea

      ⁠In godly liberty.

       Unsheathe the patriot sword in time of need,

       O Massachusetts, shouting in the lead,—

      ⁠⁠"Peace with a sword!

      ⁠⁠Help us, O Lord!"

      —Abbie Farwell Brown

      SQUARING OURSELVES

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      SQUARING OURSELVES

      How many howled about Josephus every time a sailor man

       Found an unresponsive barkeep when he went to rush the can!

       How they growled about Josephus when commanders got the news

       That the Admiral had orders for a dry and boozeless cruise!

       Even such a wild teetotaller as the temperate T. R.

       Shouted from a thousand housetops that Josephus went too far.

       From all quarters of the Nation excellent, well-meaning folk,

       Said in letters to the papers that Josephus was a joke.