CLADS OF BATTLE, John Murray, London.
(To be sung in staccato fashion.)

after that black night

e'd won our first big fight,

hadow of the pump-mill at Messines, Brass-Head came and prattled

Feeling pretty rattled

e things we'd done, and more with what we'd seen; said,

"Boys,-keep your bodies clean! Boys,-keep your billets clean! Boys,-cock your bonnets!

And, for God's sake, smile!"

ucked us up tremendous,

Boche had tried to end us,

we'd given him double dose for all we got; gone through our probation,

I saved a situation,

Big Pot put his finger on the spot:

So we pass it on to you chaps ;—
When you're fed up with new scraps,

Just remember what that good old Brass-Head said;
You'll find it worth your trying,

Both while living and when dying,

And you'll surely be the happier when you're dead,—

If you,

Always keep your bodies clean!
Always keep your billets clean!
Always cock your bonnets,

And, for God's sake, smile!

THE FIERY CROSS, John Oxenham.

JOHN OXENHAM.

Copyright 1918, GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY, Publishers.

HEROES

The heroes of the story books are ever in a pose,

They always die with words of high and lofty verse or

prose,

But when the old Tuscania went down with flying flag Our khaki gang of heroes sang a gay and foolish rag!

"Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?

Across the sea the melody came dancing free and clear; They faced their fate with souls elate and hearts that knew no fear,

With "Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?"

"Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from

A song, in truth, of valiant youth, that never loses cheer;

aughing shout rang blithely out, "Where do we from here?"

cale whose wondrous thrill we all of us can share prave men meet their destiny with spirit debonair. foe can hope with boys to cope who sing, when ath is near,

e do we go from here, boys, where do we go from re?"

AND TRENCH, by Berton Braley.

THE LITTLE STAR IN THE WINDOW

There's a little star in the window of the house across the

way,

A little star, red bordered, on a ground of pearly

white;

I can see its gleam at evening; it is bright at dawn of day, And I know it has been shining through the long and

dismal night.

The folks who pass the window on the busy city street,
I often notice, turn a glance before they hurry by ;
And one, a gray haired woman, made curtsy, low and
sweet,

While something like a teardrop was glistening in her eye.

And yesterday an aged man, by life's stern battle spent, His empty coat sleeve hanging down, a witness sadly

mute,

Gave one swift look and halted-his form full height, unbent

And ere he passed his hand came up in soldierly salute.

The little star in the window is aflame with living fire, For it was lit at the hearthstone where a lonely mother

waits;

And she has stained its crimson with the glow of her heart's desire,

And brightened its pearl-white heaven beyond the world's dark hates.

The star shall shine through the battle when the shafts of death are hurled;

It shall shine through the long night watches in the foremost trenches' line;

Over the waste of waters, and beyond the verge of the world,

Like the guiding Star of the Magi its blessed rays shall shine.

The little star in the window shall beacon your boy's

return

As his eyes are set to the homeland, when the call of the guns shall cease;

In the Flag's high constellation through the ages it shall

burn,

A pledge of his heart's devotion, a sign of his people's

peace.

JOHN JEROME ROONEY.

By permission, THE NEW YORK SUN.

CORPORAL'S CHEVRONS

Oh, the General with his shiny stars, leadin' a parade, The Colonel and the Adjutant a-sportin' of their braid, The Major and the Skipper-none of 'em look so fine As a newly minted corp'ral comin' down the line!

Oh, the Bishop in his mitre, pacin' up the aisle,
The Governor, frock-coated, with a votes-for-women

smile,

The Congressman, the Mayor, aren't in it, I opine, With a newly minted corp'ral comin' down the line! ANONYMOUS.

From YANKS, Published by the A. E. F.