On Patrol Part 1

On Patrol.

by John Graham Bower and Klaxon.

TO----

TO----.

He went to sea on the long patrol, Away to the East from the Corton Shoal, But now he's overdue.

He signalled me as he bore away (A flickering lamp through leaping spray, And darkness then till judgment day), "So long! Good luck to you!"

He's waiting out on the long patrol, Till the names are called at the muster-roll Of seamen overdue.

Far above him, in wind and rain, Another is on patrol again-- The gap is closed in the Naval Chain Where all the links are new.

Over his head the seas are white, And the wind is blowing a gale to-night, As if the Storm-King knew, And roared a ballad of sleet and snow To the man that lies on the sand below, A trumpet-song for the winds to blow To seamen overdue.

Was it sudden or slow--the death that came?

Roaring water or sheets of flame?

The end with none to view?

No man can tell us the way he died, But over the clouds Valkyries ride To open the gates and hold them wide For seamen overdue.

But whether the end was swift or slow, By the Hand of G.o.d, or a German blow, My messmate overdue-- You went to Death--and the whisper ran As over the Gates the horns began, _Splendour of G.o.d! We have found a man_-- Good-bye! Good luck to you!

OLD WOMEN

OLD WOMEN.

Faint against the twilight, dim against the evening, Fading into darkness against the lapping sea, She sailed away from harbour, from safety into danger, The s.h.i.+p that took him from me--my sailor boy from me.

He went away to join her, from me that loved and bore him, Loved him ere I bore him, that was all the world to me.

"No time for leave, mother, must be back this evening, Time for our patrol again, across the winter sea."

Six times over, since he went to join her, Came he to see me, to run back again.

"Four hours' leave, mother--still got the steam up, Going on patrol to-night--the old East lane."

"Seven times lucky, and perhaps we'll have a battle, Then I'll bring a medal back and give it you to keep."

And his name is in the paper, with close upon a hundred, Who lie there beside him, many fathom deep.

And beside him in the paper, somebody is writing, --G.o.d! but how I hate him--a liar and a fool,-- "Where is the British Navy--is it staying in the harbours?

Has the Nelson spirit in the Fleet begun to cool?"

CHIN UP

CHIN UP.

Are the prices high and taxes stiff, is the prospect sad and dark?

Have you seen your capital dwindle down as low as the German mark?

Do you feel your troubles around you rise in an endless dreary wall?

Well--thank your G.o.d you were born in time for the Greatest War of all.

It will be all right in a thousand years--you won't be bankrupt then.

This isn't the time of stocks and shares, it's just the age of men.

The one that sticks it out will win--so don't lie down and bawl, But thank your G.o.d you've helped to win the n.o.blest War of all.

Away to the East in Flanders' mud, through Dante's dream of h.e.l.l, The troops are working hard for peace with bayonet, bomb, and sh.e.l.l, With poison gas and roaring guns beneath a smoking pall; Yes--thank your G.o.d your kin are there--the finest troops of all.

You may be stripped of all you have--it may be all you say, But you'll have your life and eyesight left, so stow your talk of pay.

You won't be dead in a bed of lime with those that heard the Call; So thank your G.o.d you've an easy job in the Greatest War of all.

It isn't the money that's going to count when the Flanders' men return, And a shake of your hand from Flanders' men is a thing you've got to earn.

Just think how cold it's going to be in the Nation's Judgment Hall; So d.a.m.n your troubles and find your soul in the Greatest War of all!

"... THAT HAVE NO DOUBTS"

"... THAT HAVE NO DOUBTS."

--RUDYARD KIPLING.

_The last resort of Kings are we, but the voice of peoples too_-- Ask the guns of Valmy Ridge-- Lost at the Beresina Bridge, When the Russian guns were roaring death and the Guard was charging through.

_Ultima Ratio Regis, we--but he who has may hold,_ Se curantes Dei curant, Hear the gunners that strain and pant, As when before the rising gale the Great Armada rolled.

_Guns of fifty--sixty tons that roared at Jutland fight_, Clatter and clang of hoisting sh.e.l.l; See the flame where the salvo fell Amidst the flash of German guns against the wall of white.