Poem List ~ Over Here (war Time Rhymes) by Edgar Guest

• A Battle Prayer
• A Christmas Greeting
• A Creed
• A Father’s Prayer
• A Father’s Thoughts
• A Father’s Tribute
• A Good Soldier
• A Patriot
• A Patriotic Creed
• A Plea
• A Prayer, 1918
• America
• April Thoughts
• As It Looks to the Boy
• Beautifying the Flag
• Bigger Than His Dad
• Christmas, 1918
• Do Your All
• Drafted
• Easy Service
• Envy
• Everywhere in America
• Exempt
• Famous Father
• Fly a Clean Flag
• Follow the Flag
• For Your Boy and Mine
• From Laughter to Labor
• General Pershing
• Good Luck
• Hate
• He Should Meet a Mother There
• Here We Are!
• His Room
• His Santa Claus
• Hope
• Ideals
• July the Fourth, 1917
• Kelly Ingram
• Life’s Slacker
• Mothers and Wives
• My Part
• Next of Kin
• Out of It All
• Over Here
• Poem List ~ Over Here (war Time Rhymes) by Edgar Guest
• Prophecy
• Rebellion
• Reflection
• Selfishness
• Soldierly
• Sympathy
• Taking His Place
• The Alarm
• The Better Thing
• The Big Deeds
• The Boy Enlists
• The Boy’s Adventure
• The Call to Service
• The Change
• The Chaplain
• The Christmas Box
• The Complacent Slacker
• The Discovery of a Soul
• The Flag
• The Friendly Greeting
• The Future
• The Girl He Left Behind
• The Glory of Age
• The Gold Givers
• The Honor Roll
• The Important Thing
• The Joy to Be
• The Mother Faith
• The New Year
• The Princess Pats
• The Proof of Worth
• The Soldier on Crutches
• The Struggle
• The Time for Deeds
• The Undaunted
• The Unsettled Scores
• The Waiter at the Camp
• The Wrist Watch Man
• Thoughts of a Soldier
• To a Kindly Critic
• To a Lady Knitting
• To the Men at Home
• United
• War’s Homecoming
• Warriors
• We Need a Few More Optimists
• We Who Stay at Home
• We’ve Had a Letter From the Boy
• When the Drums Shall Cease to Beat
• Why We Fight
• Your Country Needs You

The Chaplain

He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and he
Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see.
He wore the cleric’s broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind,
But he had a man’s religion and he had a strong man’s mind,
And he heard the call to duty, and he quit his church and went,
And he bravely tramped right with ‘em everywhere the boys were sent.

He put aside his broadcloth and he put the khaki on;
Said he’d come to be a soldier and was going to live like one.
Then he refereed the prize fights that the boys pulled off at night,
And if no one else was handy he’d put on the gloves and fight.
He wasn’t there a fortnight ere he saw the soldiers’ needs,
And he said: “I’m done with preaching; this is now the time for deeds.”

He learned the sound of shrapnel, he could tell the size of shell
From the shriek it make above him, and he knew just where it fell.
In the front line trench he labored, and he knew the feel of mud,
And he didn’t run from danger and he wasn’t scared of blood.
He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered them with his jokes,
And he never made a visit without passing round the smokes.

Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt beside a lad
Who was “going west” right speedy, and they both seemed mighty glad,
‘Cause he held the boy’s hand tighter, and he smiled and whispered low,
“Now you needn’t fear the journey; over there with you I’ll go.”
And they both passed out together, arm in arm I think they went.
He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the boys were sent.

My Part

I may never be a hero, I am past the limit now,
There are pencil marks of silver Time has left upon my brow;
I shall win no service medals, I shall hear no cannons’ roar,
I shall never fight a battle higher up than eagles soar,
But I hope my children’s children may recall my name with pride
As a man who never whimpered when his soul was being tried.

For the fighting and the dying for the everlasting truth
Are the labors designated for the strongest of our youth,
And the man that’s nearing forty isn’t asked to march away,
For there is no place in battle for the head that’s turning gray.
His test is one of patience till the bitter work is done,
He must back his country’s leaders till the victory is won.

When this bitter time is ended I don’t want to have it said
That I faltered in my courage and I never looked ahead,
I don’t want it told I added to the burdens and the woe,
By preaching dismal doctrines that were cheering to the foe;
I want my children’s children to respect me and to find
That my soul was out there fighting, though my body stayed behind.

When this cruel test is over and the boys come back from France
I’d not have them say I hindered for a moment their advance;
That they found their duty harder than ’twas needful it should be
Because of the complaining of a lot of men like me.
Though I’ll win no hero’s medals and deserve no wild applause,
I want to be of service, not a hindrance to the cause.

A Patriot

It’s funny when a feller wants to do his little bit,
And wants to wear a uniform and lug a soldier’s kit,
And ain’t afraid of submarines nor mines that fill the sea,
They will not let him go along to fight for liberty
They make him stay at home and be his mother’s darling pet,
But you can bet there’ll come a time when they will want me yet.

I want to serve the Stars and Stripes, I want to go and fight,
I want to lick the Kaiser good, and do the job up right.
I know the way to use _a_ gun and I can dig a trench
And I would like to go and help the English and the French.
But no, they say, you cannot march away to stirring drums;
Be mother’s angel boy at home; stay there and twirl your thumbs.

I’ve read about the daring boys that fight up in the sky;
It seems to me that that must be a splendid way to die.
I’d like to drive an aeroplane and prove my courage grim
And get above a German there and drop a bomb on him,
But they won’t let me go along to help the latest drive;
They say my mother needs me here because I’m only five.

The Soldier on Crutches

He came down the stairs on the laughter-filled grill
Where patriots were eating and drinking their fill,
The tap of his crutch on the marble of white
Caught my ear as I sat all alone there that night.
I turned–and a soldier my eyes fell upon,
He had fought for his country, and one leg was gone!

As he entered a silence fell over the place;
Every eye in the room was turned up to his face.
His head was up high and his eyes seemed aflame
With a wonderful light, and he laughed as he came.
He was young–not yet thirty–yet never he made
One sign of regret for the price he had paid.

One moment before this young soldier came in
I had caught bits of speech in the clatter and din
From the fine men about me in life’s dress parade
Who were boasting the cash sacrifices they’d made;
And I’d thought of my own paltry service with pride,
When I turned and that hero of battle I spied.

I shall never forget the hot flushes of shame
That rushed to my cheeks as that young fellow came.
He was cheerful and smiling and clear-eyed and fine
And out of his face golden light seemed to shine.
And I thought as he passed me on crutches:
“How small
Are the gifts that I make if I don’t give my all.”

Some day in the future in many a place
More soldiers just like him we’ll all have to face.
We must sit with them, talk with them, laugh with them, too,
With the signs of their service forever in view
And this was my thought as I looked at him then
–Oh, God! make me worthy to stand with such men.

The Friendly Greeting

Oh, we have friends in England, and we have friends in France,
And should we have to travel there through some strange circumstance,
Undaunted we should sail away, and gladly should we go,
Because awaiting us would be somebody that we know.

Full many a journey here we make where countless strangers roam,
Yet everywhere our faces turn we find a friend from home.
Oh, we have friends in distant towns, and friends ‘neath foreign skies,
And yet we think of him as lost whene’er a loved one dies.

Yet he has merely traveled on, as many a friend must do;
Within a distant city fair he waits for me and you,
And when shall come our time to make that journey through the gloam,
To welcome us he will be there, the smiling friend from home.

We Need a Few More Optimists

We need a few more optimists,
The kind that double up their fists
And set their jaws, determined-like,
A blow at infamy to strike.
Not smiling men, who drift along
And compromise with every wrong;
Not grinning optimists who cry
That right was never born to die,
But optimists who’ll fight to give
The truth an honest chance to live.

We need a few more optimists
For places in our fighting lists,
The kind of hopeful men who make
Real sacrifice for freedom’s sake;
The optimist, with purpose strong,
Who stands to battle every wrong,
Takes off his coat, and buckles in
The better joys of earth to win!
The optimist who worries lest
The vile should overthrow the best.

We need a few more optimists,
The brave of heart that long resists
The force of Hate and Greed and lust
And keeps in God and man his trust,
Believing, as he makes his fight
That everything will end all right–
Yet through the dreary days and nights
Unfalteringly serves and fights,
And helps to gain the joys which he
Believes are some day sure to be.

We need a few more optimists
Of iron hearts and sturdy wrists;
Not optimists who smugly smile
And preach that in a little while
The clouds will fade before the sun,
But cheerful men who’ll bear a gun,
And hopeful men, of courage stout,
Who’ll see disaster round about
And yet will keep their faith, and fight,
And gain the victory for right.

Taking His Place

He’s doing double duty now;
Time’s silver gleams upon his brow,
And there are lines upon his face
Which only passing years can trace.
And yet he’s turned back many a page
Long written in the book of age,
For since their boy has marched away,
This kindly father, growing gray,
Is doing for the mother true
The many things the boy would do.

Just as the son came home each night
With youthful step and eyes alight,
So he returns, and with a shout
Of greeting puts her grief to rout.
He says that she shall never miss
The pleasure of that evening kiss,
And with strong arms and manner brave
He simulates the hug _he_ gave,
And loves her, when the day is done,
Both as a husband and a son.

His laugh has caught a clearer ring;
His step has claimed the old-time swing,
And though _his_ absence hurts him, too,
The bravest thing that he can do
Is just to try to take _his_ place
And keep the smiles on mother’s face.
So, merrily he jests at night–
Tells her with all a boy’s delight
Of what has happened in the town,
And thus keeps melancholy down.

Her letters breathe of hope and cheer;
No note of gloom she sends from here,
And as her husband reads at night
The many messages she writes,
He chuckles o’er the closing line.
She’s failed his secret to divine–
“When you get home,” she tells the lad,
“You’ll scarcely know your doting dad;
Although his hair is turning gray,
He seems more like a boy each day.”

Christmas, 1918

They give their all, this Christmastide, that peace on earth shall reign;
Upon the snows of Flanders now, brave blood has left its stain;
With ribbons red we deck our gifts; theirs bear the red of pain.

They give their lives that joy shall live and little children play;
They pass that all that makes for peace shall not be swept away;
They die that children yet unborn shall have their Christmas Day.

Come! deck the home with holly wreaths and make this Christmas glow,
And let Old Glory wave above the bough of mistletoe!
Come! keep alive the faith of them who sleep ‘neath Flanders snow.

Ye brave of heart who dwell at home, make merry now a-while;
The world has need of Christmas cheer its sorrows to beguile;
And blest is he whose love can light grief’s corners with a smile.

Ring out once more, sweet Christmas bells, your message to the sky,
Proclaim in golden tones again to every passer-by
That peace shall rule the lands of earth, and only war shall die.

Let love’s sweet tenderness relieve war’s cruel crimson clutch,
Send forth the Christmas spirit, every troubled heart to touch;
Blest will be all we do for them who do for us so much.

The New Year

Come you with dangers to fright us? or hazards
to try out our souls?
Then may you find us undaunted; determined to
get to our goals.
Now, white are the pages you bring us to fill
with the tales of our deeds,
And I pray we shall square at the finish the work
of our lives with our creeds.

Oh, child of a year, do you wonder what here
upon earth you shall find?
America shows you a people united in purpose
and mind;
Whatever you bring us of danger, whatever you
hold to affright,
I pray that we never shall lower our standards
of truth and of right.

You find us a people united, full pledged to the
work of the world,
To banish the despot and tyrant, our banner in
battle’s unfurled;
And here to a world that is bleeding and weary
and heartsick you come,
Whatever you’ve brought us of duty–we’ll
answer the call of your drum.

We may weep in our grief and our sorrows, we
may bend ‘neath the might of the blow,
But never our courage shall falter, and never
we’ll run from the foe.
We know not how troubled our pathways shall
be nor how sorely beset,
But I pray we shall cling to our honor as men
and never our purpose forget.

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