Chapter I: Front Matter

[Picture: Book cover]

HELLO, BOYS!

BY

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

[Picture: Decorative graphic]

LONDON

GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD.

1919

_All rights reserved_

* * * * *

_N.B._—The only volumes of my Poems issues
with my approval in the British Empire are
published by Messrs. Gay & Hancock.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

FORWARD

THE greater part of these verses dealing with the war were written in France during my recent seven months’ sojourn there, and for the purpose of using in entertainments given in camps and hospitals to thousands of American soldiers.

They were the result of coming into close contact with the soldiers’ mind and heart, and were intentionally expressed in the simplest manner, without any consideration of methods approved by modern critics. The fact that I have been asked to autograph scores of copies of many of these verses (and one of them to the extent of 350 copies) is more gratifying to me than would be the highest encomiums of the purely literary critic.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

London,
_October_ 1918.

CONTENTS

PAGE THANKSGIVING 1 THE BRAVE HIGHLAND LADDIES 3 MEN OF THE SEA 6 ODE TO THE BRITISH FLEET 9 THE GERMAN FLEET 11 DEEP UNTO DEEP WAS CALLING 12 THE SONG OF THE ALLIES 14 TEN THOUSAND MEN A DAY 16 “AMERICA WILL NOT TURN BACK” 18 WAR 20 THE HOUR 23 THE MESSAGE 25 “FLOWERS OF FRANCE” 29 OUR ATLAS 34 CAMP FOLLOWERS 37 COME BACK CLEAN 39 CAMOUFLAGE 41 THE AWAKENING 42 THE KHAKI BOYS WHO WERE NOT AT THE FRONT 44 TIME’S HYMN OF HATE 46 DEAR MOTHERLAND OF FRANCE 48 THE SPIRIT OF GREAT JOAN 50 SPEAK 52 THE GIRL OF THE U.S.A. 54 PASSING THE BUCK 56 SONG OF THE AVIATOR 57 THE STEVEDORES 59 A SONG OF HOME 61 THE SWAN OF DIJON 73 VEILS 65 IN FRANCE I SAW A HILL 68 AMERICAN BOYS, HELLO! 70 DE ROCHAMBEAU 72 AFTER 74 THE BLASPHEMY OF GUNS 75 THE CRIMES OF PEACE 78 IT MAY BE 82 THEN AND NOW 85 WIDOWS 89 CONVERSATION 93 I, TOO 97 HE THAT HATH EARS 99 ANSWERS 101 HOW IS IT? 104 ‘LET US GIVE THANKS’ 107 THE BLACK SHEEP 109 ONE BY ONE 112 PRAYER 114 BE NOT DISMAYED 116 ASCENSION 118 THE DEADLIEST SIN 121 THE RAINBOW OF PROMISE 124 THEY SHALL NOT WIN 126

THANKSGIVING

Thanksgiving for the strong armed day,
That lifted war’s red curse,
When Peace, that lordly little word,
Was uttered in a voice that stirred—
Yea, shook the Universe.

Thanksgiving for the Mighty Hour
That brimmed the Victor’s cup,
When England signalled to the foe,
‘The German flag must be brought low
And not again hauled up!’

Thanksgiving for the sea and air
Free from the Devil’s might!
Thanksgiving that the human race
Can lift once more a rev’rent face,
And say, ‘God helps the Right.’

Thanksgiving for our men who came
In Heaven-protected ships,
The waning tide of hope to swell,
With ‘Lusitania’ and ‘Cavell’
As watchwords on their lips.

Thanksgiving that our splendid dead,
All radiant with youth,
Dwell near to us—there is no death.
Thanksgiving for the broad new faith
That helps us know this truth.

THE BRAVE HIGHLAND LADDIES

I had seen our splendid soldiers in their khaki uniforms,
And their leaders with a Sam Brown belt;
I had seen the fighting Britons and Colonials in swarms,
I had seen the blue-clad Frenchmen, and I felt
That the mighty martial show
Had no new sight to bestow,
Till I walked on Piccadilly, and my word!
By the bonnie Highland laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
To a wholly new sensation I was stirred.

They were like some old-time picture, or a scene from out a play,
They were stalwart, they were young, and debonnair;
Their jaunty little caps they wore in such a fetching way,
And they showed their handsome legs, and didn’t care—
And they seemed to own the town
As they strode on up and down—
Oh, they surely were a sight for tired eyes!
Those braw, bonnie laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
And I stared at them with pleasure and surprise.

I had read about the valour of old Scotland’s warrior sons—
How they fought to a finish, or else fell;
I had heard the name bestowed on them by agitated Huns,
Who called these skirted soldiers ‘Dames of Hell’;
And I gave them right of way
On their London holiday,
As I met them swinging down the street and Strand,
Those bonnie, bonnie laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
And I breathed a blessing on them and their land

Now the world is all rejoicing that the end of war has come—
And no heart is any gladder than my own,
That the brutal, blatant voices of the guns at last are dumb,
And the Dove of Peace from out her cage has flown.
Yet, when men no more march by,
Making pictures for the eye,
There’s a vital dash of colour earth will lack,
When the brave Highland laddies
Drop their kilts and their plaidies,
And return to common clothes of grey or black!

MEN OF THE SEA

_Many the songs of the brave boys sent_
_Over The Top in the battle’s thunder_;
_But mine is the song of the men who went_
_Over the top of the waves—and under_.

Men of the sea, Men of the sea,
I lift mine eyes to the Flags unfurled—
The Flags of Victory blowing free
Over the new-born world.
And I cry ‘Thank God! these things can be!
Thank God, and the Men of the Sea!’

Little it matters to what they belong,
Marine or Navy—or Merchant Ship—
To the Men of the Sea I sing my song;
A song that rises from heart to lip.

I sing of the valour that ploughed a path
Straight through the snares of a crafty foe,
Through billows raging with wintry wrath,
And over the dens of the devils below.

To the splendid heroes of Jutland Bank
And the Royal Navy I give their due;
And cheek by jowl with them all, I rank
The brave mine-sweepers and merchant crew.

Trawler—Drifter—or English Fleet—
All are manned by the Men of the Sea,
And all together in my heart meet,
For a boat is a boat to the mind of me.

And who ever over the dread seas fared,
And however humble his work or place,
To the great Christ spirit must be compared—
Since he offered his life for the good of the race.

And how many lie in the deep-sea bed,
No man can reckon, and no man number;
But not one Soul of them all is dead,
For death is only the body’s slumber.

And the Men of the Mist, who from dark to dawn
On the deck or the bridge stand guard at night,
Oft feel the presence of comrades gone
Who keep watch with them, though veiled from sight.

_Many the songs of the brave boys sent_
_Over The Top in the battle’s thunder_;
_But mine is the song of the men who went_
_Over the top of the waves—and under_.

ODE TO THE BRITISH FLEET

‘Invisible and silent’—Mystery
Surrounded that great Guardian of the Sea.
That Father—Mother—of the mighty main.
While loud in valley and on field and hill—
And over anguished plain
The battles thundered. God himself is still
And hidden from men’s view; and it were meet
That this subliminal force
Should move in utter silence on its course
Invisible—Inaudible—till that hour
When Time, Fate’s Minister, should speak and say—
‘Come forth! and show thy power!’
When Time commands, even the gods obey.

‘Invisible and silent’; yet the foe
Was driven from the Sea. All impotent
The brazen braggart went.
While commerce sent her brave ships to and fro;
And from Columbia’s shores there sailed away
Ten thousand men a day—
Ten thousand men a day! who reached their goals
Bringing new courage to war-weary souls.

Oh, silent wonder of the noisy sea!
Though alien, with the blood of Bunker Hill
Down filtering through my veins, the heart of me
Seems with a mingled love and awe to fill
And overflow at thought of that sublime,
Unparalleled large hour of Time;
When bloodless Victory saw the foes’ flag furled—
That insolent menace to a righteous world.

Great Britain’s Fleet unshaken in its might,
Proclaimed itself again in all men’s sight
The Mistress of the Main. Fair Freedom’s friend,
May peace and glory on thy path attend.

THE GERMAN FLEET

Lie down, and let the billows hide your shame,
Oh, shorn and naked outcast of the seas!
You who confided to each ocean breeze
Your coming conquests, and made loud acclaim
Of your own grandeur and exalted fame;
You who have catered to they world’s disease;
You who have drunk hate’s wine, and found the lees;
Lie down! and let all men forget your name!

You dreamed of world dominion! you! the spawn
Of hell and hatred—Foe to all things free—
Sworn enemy to honour, truth and right;
Too poor a thing now for the Devil’s pawn,
Let the large mercy of the outraged sea
Engulf and hide you evermore from sight.

DEEP UNTO DEEP WAS CALLING

They rode through the bannered city—
The King and the Commoner,
And the hopes of the world were with them,
And the heart of the world was astir.
For the moss-grown walls seemed falling
That have shut away men from Kings;
And Deep unto Deep was calling
For the coming of greater things.

They rode to an age-old Palace
Where the feet of the Mighty go—
(A Palace that stands unshaken
Despite the boast of the foe!)
And the King from Kings descending—
And the Man of the People’s choice
In a Super-Man seemed blending,
And they spoke as with one voice.

And one voice now and for ever
Will speak from sea to sea,
Wherever the British Banner
And the Starry Flag float free.
For our fettering chains are sundered
By the evil that turned to good,
And Deep unto Deep has thundered
Its message of Brotherhood.

It was not a pageant of Victors—
Or a triumph hour of man,
That ride through the bannered City,
It was part of a Mighty Plan;
And the sound of old barriers falling
Rose there where those Rulers trod,
For Deep unto Deep was calling
In the resonant Voice of God.

THE SONG OF THE ALLIES

We are the Allies of God to-day,
And the width of the earth is our right of way.
Let no man question or ask us why,
As we speed to answer a wild world cry;
Let no man hinder or ask us where,
As out over water and land we fare;
For whether we hurry, or whether we wait,
We follow the finger of guiding fate.

We are the Allies. We differ in faith,
But are one in our courage at thought of death.
Many and varied the tongues we speak,
But one and the same is the goal we seek.
And the goal we seek is not power or place,
But the peace of the world, and the good of the race.
And little matters the colour of skin,
When each heart under it beats to win.

We are the Allies; we fight or fly,
We wallow in trenches like pigs in a sty,
We dive under water to foil a foe,
We wait in quarters, or rise and go.
And staying or going, or near or far,
One thought is ever our guiding star:
We are the Allies of God to-day,
We are the Allies—make way! make way!

TEN THOUSAND MEN A DAY

All the world was wearying,
All the world was sad;
Everything was shadow-filled;
Things were going bad.
Then a rumour stirred all hearts
As a wind stirs trees—
Ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas!

Soon we saw them marching by—
God! what a sight!—
Shoulders back, and heads erect,
Faces full of light.
Smiling like a morn in May,
Moving like a breeze,
Ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas.

Weary soldiers worn with war
Lifted up their eyes,
Shadows seemed to fade a bit,
Dawn was in the skies.
Hope sprang to troubled hearts,
Strength to tired knees:
Ten thousand men a day
Were coming over seas.

France and England swarmed with them,
Khaki-clad and young,
Filled with all the joy of life—
Into line they swung.
Waning valour rose anew
At the sight of these
Ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas.

Still they come—and still they come
In their strength and pride.
Victory with radiant mien
Marches on beside.
Victory is here to stay,
Every heart agrees,
With ten thousand men a day
Coming over seas.

‘AMERICA WILL NOT TURN BACK’

WOODROW WILSON

America will not turn back;
She did not idly start,
But weighed full carefully and well
Her grave, important part.
She chose the part of Freedom’s friend,
And will pursue it, to the end.

Great Liberty, who guards her gates,
Will shine upon her course,
And light the long, adventurous path
With radiance from God’s Source.
And though blood dye that ocean track,
America will not turn back.

She will not turn until that hour
When thunders through the world
The crash of tyrant monarchies
By Freedom’s hand down-hurled.
While Labour’s voice from sea to sea
Sings loud, ‘My country, ’tis of thee.’

Then will our fair Columbia turn,
While all wars’ clamours cease,
And with our banner lifted high
Proclaim, ‘Let there be Peace.’
But till that glorious day shall dawn
She will march on, she will march on.

WAR