Rookie Rhymes.
by The Men of the 1st. and 2nd. Provisional Training Regiments, Plattsburg, New York.
FOREWORD
_River that rolls to the restless deep From sylvan-born placidity, Stained issue of the undefiled By your own wayward will exiled From the crystal lap of a land-locked sea,_
_Read me the meaning of your mood.
The waters murmur as they flow, "Strife is the law by which we live; Stagnation, our alternative: This is the only truth we know."_
_The tides of mortal toilers meet To merge their rhythms in b.l.o.o.d.y fray, And, wave to wave, their armies call-- Nay, summon us that we shall all a.s.sume the role we choose to play._
_So, at the cry, in loyal b.r.e.a.s.t.s, As smaller self-concern recedes, Still burns the old Achillean fire, Still eager questing souls desire Not life but living, not days but deeds._
PART I
POEMS
STANDING IN LINE
When I applied for Plattsburg I stood for hours in line To get a piece of paper which they said I had to sign; When I had signed I stood in line (and my, that line was slow!) And asked them what to do with it; they said they didn"t know.
And when I came to Plattsburg I had to stand in line, To get a Requisition, from five o"clock till nine; I stood in line till night for the Captain to endorse it; But the Q. M. had one leggin" left; I used it for a corset.
We stand in line for hours to get an issue for the squad; We stand in line for hours and hours to use the cleaning-rod; And hours and hours and hours and hours to sign the roll for pay; And walk for miles in double files on Inoculation day.
Oh, Heaven is a happy place, its streets are pa.s.sing fair, And when they start to call the roll up yonder I"ll be there; But when they start to call that roll I certainly will resign If some Reserve Archangel tries to make me stand in line.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
THE FIRST TIME
My legs are moving to and fro I feel like a balloon; How my head swims, first time I go To boss the d.a.m.n platoon.
My throat and mouth are full of paste There"s nothing in my hat; My belt is winding round my waist But where"s my stomach at?
ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE
Our Christian Science Battery Without a gun or horse, Is just a simple oversight, That will be changed, of course.
But while we"re waiting patiently, And longing for the day, They have a funny little game They make us fellows play.
Bill Hallstead _simulates_ the gun He"s sort of short and fat And doesn"t look much like a gun, But he"s pretty good at that.
And they"ve elected me a horse, Off-horse of the wheel pair; I tie a white cloth on my arm So they can see I"m there.
Then when the battery is formed With each man in his place, They line the "pieces" in a row Just like a chariot race.
Bill Barnum"s "Greatest Show on Earth"
Has not a thing on us; We tear around the old parade And kick up _clouds_ of dust.
For it"s gallop all the morning long, They never let us walk.
Why, it gets so realistic That I whinney when I talk.
I wouldn"t be a bit surprised If I should hear some day That instead of mess they"d issue us That 14 lbs. of hay.
And so I"m looking for the man The one who said to me: "You don"t want to be a "doughboy,"
Go and join the battery."
[Ill.u.s.tration: Right Dress--MARCH]
THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME
"Lots of love to our lieutenant,"
Writes my mother; And the letters from my brother Contain facetious remarks about "majors" ...
He calls me "The Colonel" and laughs....
But they mean it seriously, Those back home.
They can"t seem to realize How shaky is our berth up here ...
How every "Retreat" means a brief respite; Each "Reveille" the dread Of some more foolish blunder ...
Some new bone-play.
And yet sometimes our timid vanity Blossoms under the warmth of their regard; Our hopes take strength from their confidence in us.
There came a blue envelope in the mail today.
A square envelope delicately scented with myrrh....