On Patrol Part 8

And _this_ is the way we climb and stall and sit up and beg on nothing at all, The wires and strainers slack.

And now we'll try and be good some more, and open the throttle and hear her roar And steer for London Town.

For there never a pilot yet was born who flew a machine on a frosty morn But started stunting soon, To feel if his wires were really there, or whether he flew on ice or air, Or whether his hands were gloved or bare, Or he sat in a free balloon.

IN THE MORNING

IN THE MORNING.

Back from battle, torn and rent, Listing bridge and stanchions bent By the angry sea.

By Thy guiding mercy sent, Fruitful was the road we went-- Back from battle we.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm, If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home, When against us men arose and sought to work us harm, We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

Heaving sea and cloudy sky Saw the battle flashing by As Thy foemen ran.

By Thy grace, that made them fly, We have seen two hundred die Since the fight began.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right, If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!

If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight, We never should have closed with them--Thy seas are dark and broad.

Through the iron rain they fled, Bearing home the tale of dead, Flying from Thy sword.

After-hatch to fo'c'sle head, We have turned their decks to red, By Thy help, O Lord!

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown, But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud; It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone, When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

Sixty miles of running fight, Finished at the dawning light, Off the Zuider Zee.

Thou that helped throughout the night Weary hand and aching sight, Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

IN FORTY WEST

IN FORTY WEST.

We are coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine, And the word has gone before us to the towns upon the Rhine; As the rising of the tide On the Old-World side, We are coming to the battle, to the Line.

From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North, We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth: "We have put the pen away, And the sword is out to-day, For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath."

We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight, As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light; In the wharf-light glare They can hear us Over There, When the ships come steaming through the night.

Right across the deep Atlantic where the _Lusitania_ pa.s.sed, With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast, We are coming all the while, Over twenty hundred mile, And were staying to the finish, to the last.

We are many--we are one--and we're in it overhead, We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead, And the old Rebel Yell Will be loud above the sh.e.l.l When we cross the top together, seeing red.

A RING AXIOM

A RING AXIOM.

When the pitiless gong rings out again, and they whip your chair away, When you feel you'd like to take the floor, whatever the crowd should say, When the hammering gloves come back again, and the world goes round your head, When you know your arms are only wax, your hands of useless lead, When you feel you'd give your heart and soul for a chance to clinch and rest, And through your brain the whisper comes, "Give in, you've done your best,"-- Why, stiffen your knees and brace your back, and take my word as true-- _If the man in front has got you weak, he's just as tired as you_.

He can't attack through a gruelling fight and finish as he began; He's done more work than you to-day--you're just as fine a man.

So call your last reserve of pluck--he's careless with his chin-- You'll put it across him every time--Go in--Go in--_Go in_!

THE QUARTERMASTER

THE QUARTERMASTER.

I mustn't look up from the compa.s.s-card, nor look at the seas at all, I must watch the helm and compa.s.s-card,--If I heard the trumpet-call Of Gabriel sounding Judgment Day to dry the Seas again, I must hold her bow to windward now till I'm relieved again-- To the pipe and wail of a tearing gale, Carrying Starboard Ten.

I must stare and frown at the compa.s.s-card, that chases round the bowl, North and South and back again with every lurching roll.

By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing, But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing-- In a breaking sea with the land a-lee, Carrying Starboard Ten.

And I stoop to look at the compa.s.s-card as closes in the night, For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light; But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eye A shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh-- Foggy and thick and a windy trick, Carrying Starboard Ten.

Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now; Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow, I've got my eyes on the compa.s.s-card, and though she broke her keel And hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel-- In Davy's realm, still at the helm, Carrying Starboard Ten.

IN THE BARRED ZONE

IN THE BARRED ZONE.