Part 1 (1/2)
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.