Robert W. Service

“ It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave, When the dawn of success is beginning. But the man who can meet despair and defeat With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing; The man who can fight to Heaven's own height Is the man who can fight when he's losing. Carry on! Carry on! Things never were looming so black. But show that you haven't a cowardly streak, And though you're unlucky you never are weak. Carry on! Carry on! Brace up for another attack. It's looking like hell, but—you never can tell: Carry on, old man! ”

“ For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to our lads like you." ”

“ Don't you think as we peddle a card of pins the counter will fade away, And again we'll be seeing the sand-bag rims, and the barb-wire's misty grey? As a flat voice asks for a pound of tea, don't you fancy we'll hear instead The night-wind moan and the soothing drone of the packet that's overhead? Don't you guess that the things we're seeing now will haunt us through all the years; Heaven and hell rolled into one, glory and blood and tears; Life's pattern picked with a scarlet thread, where once we wove with a grey To remind us all how we played our part in the shock of an epic day? ”

“ And as in agony of death with blood his lips were wet, The Prussian Major gaily laughed, and lit a cigarette. But mid the white-faced villagers who cowered in horror by, Was one who saw the woeful sight, who heard the woeful cry: "Water! One little drop, I beg! For love of Christ who died. . . ." It was the little Jean Desprez who turned and stole aside; It was the little bare-foot boy who came with cup abrim And walked up to the dying man, and gave the drink to him. A roar of rage! They seize the boy; they tear him fast away. The Prussian Major swings around; no longer is he gay. ”

“ It's easy to fight when everything's right, And you're mad with the thrill and the glory; It's easy to cheer when victory's near, And wallow in fields that are gory. It's a different song when everything's wrong, When you're feeling infernally mortal; When it's ten against one, and hope there is none, Buck up, little soldier, and chortle: Carry on! ”

“ A new amazing enemy We cannot silence though we try; A battery on radiant wings, That from yon gap of golden fleece Hurls at us hopes of such strange things As joy and home and love and peace. Pure heart of song! do you not know That we are making earth a hell? Or is it that you try to show Life still is joy and all is well? Brave little wings! Ah, not in vain You beat into that bit of blue: Lo! we who pant in war's red rain Lift shining eyes, see Heaven too. ”

“ There's a glory gold never can buy to yearn and to cry for; There's a hope that's as old as the sky to suffer and sigh for; There's a faith that out-dazzles the sun to martyr and die for. Ah no! it's my dream that War will never be ended; That men will perish like men, and valour be splendid; That the Flag by the sword will be served, and honour defended. That the tale of my fights will never be ancient story; That though my eye may be dim and my beard be hoary, I'll die as a soldier dies on the Field of Glory. ”

“ The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver Of one of the ghosts of No Man's Land? It's only at night when the ghosts awaken, And gibber and whisper horrible things; For to every foot of this God-forsaken Zone of jeopard some horror clings. Ugh! What was that? It felt like a jelly, That flattish mound in the noisome grass; You three big rats running free of its belly, Out of my way and let me pass! But if there's horror, there's beauty, wonder; The trench lights gleam and the rockets play. ”

“ It gives us common, working chaps our chance, A taste of glory, chivalry, romance. Ay, War, they say, is hell; it's heaven, too. It lets a man discover what he's worth. It takes his measure, shows what he can do, Gives him a joy like nothing else on earth. It fans in him a flame that otherwise Would flicker out, these drab, discordant days; It teaches him in pain and sacrifice Faith, fortitude, grim courage past all praise. Yes, War is good. So here beside my slain, A happy wreck I wait amid the din ”

“ The earth is sick and seems to breathe with pain; A lost wind whimpers in a mangled tree; I do not see the foul, corpse-cluttered plain, The dead I do not see. The slain I WOULD not see . . . and so I lift My eyes from out the shambles where they lie; When lo! a million woman-faces drift Like pale leaves through the sky. The cheeks of some are channelled deep with tears; But some are tearless, with wild eyes that stare Into the shadow of the coming years Of fathomless despair. And some are young, and some are very old; And some are rich, some poor beyond belief ”

“ Around you smoky clouds like ogres tower; The earth is rowelled deep with spurs of flame, And on your helmet stones and ashes shower. BUT ON YOU CHARGE. It's odd! You have no fear. Machine-gun bullets whip and lash your path; Red, yellow, black the smoky giants rear; The shrapnel rips, the heavens roar in wrath. BUT ON YOU CHARGE. Barbed wire all trampled down. The ground all gored and rent as by a blast; Grim heaps of grey where once were heaps of brown; A ragged ditch—the Hun first line at last. All smashed to hell. ”

“ For guile and a purse gold-greased are the arms you carry; With deeds of paper you fight and with pens you parry; You call on the hounds of the law your foes to harry. You with your "Art for its own sake", posing and prinking; You with your "Live and be merry", eating and drinking; You with your "Peace at all hazard", from bright blood shrinking. Fools! I will tell you now: though the red rain patters, And a million of men go down, it's little it matters. ”

“ Open wide the window; there's a lark a-singing; There's a glad lark singing in the evening sky. How it's wild with rapture, radiantly winging: Oh it's good to hear that when one has to die. I am horror-haunted from the hell they found me; I am battle-broken, all I want is rest. Ah! It's good to die so, blossoms all around me, And a kind lark singing in the golden West. ”

“ There are emerald stars, and their tails they wriggle, And ghastly they glare on the face of the dead. But the worst of all are the stars of whiteness, That spill in a pool of pearly flame, Pretty as gems in their silver brightness, And etching a man for a bullet's aim. ”

“ In boots that are flat, a box of a hat, And they call us the little piou-piou, Piou-piou, The laughing and quaffing piou-piou, The swinging and singing piou-piou; And so with a rattle we march to the battle, The weary but cheery piou-piou. Encore un petit verre de vin, Pour nous mettre en route; Encore un petit verre de vin Pour nous mettre en train. They drive us head-on for the slaughter; We haven't got much of a chance; The issue looks bad, but we're awfully glad To battle and die for La France. For some must be killed, that is certain; There's only one's duty to do ”

“ On, on tae the foe wi' a rush and a roar! And wild to the welkin their battle-cry rang, And doon on the Boches like tigers they sprang: And there wisna a man but had death in his ee, For he thocht o' the haggis o' Private McPhee.
The Lark From wrath-red dawn to wrath-red dawn, The guns have brayed without abate; And now the sick sun looks upon The bleared, blood-boltered fields of hate As if it loathed to rise again. How strange the hush! Yet sudden, hark! From yon down-trodden gold of grain, The leaping rapture of a lark. A fusillade of melody, That sprays us from yon trench of sky ”

“ I fancy I felt one too, Half naked and swinging a rifle. . . . God! what a glorious "do". As I sit here in old Piccadilly, sipping my afternoon tea, I see a blind, bullet-chipped devil, and it's hard to believe that it's me; I see a wild, war-damaged demon, smashing out left and right, And humming "Ben Bolt" rather loudly, and hugely enjoying the fight. And as for my men, may God bless 'em! I've loved 'em ever since then: They fought like the shining angels; they're the pick o' the land, my men. And the trench was a reeking shambles, not a Boche to be seen alive— So I thought ”

“ And here I am with the bullets humming As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon. Out alone, for adventure thirsting, Out in mysterious No Man's Land; Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting, Flares on the horrors on every hand. ”

“ I begin to draw, and my cheeks tuck in, And all my face is a blissful grin; And up in a cloud the good smoke goes, And the good pipe glimmers and fades and glows; In its throat it chuckles a cheery song, For I likes it hot and I likes it strong. Oh, it's good is grub when you're feeling hollow, But the best of a meal's the smoke to follow. There was Micky and me on a night patrol, Having to hide in a fizz-bang hole; And sure I thought I was worse than dead Wi' them crump-crumps hustlin' over me head. ”

“ More reeking holes, blood, barbed wire, gruesome dead; (Your puttee strap's undone—that worries you) . You glare around. You think you're all alone. But no; your chums come surging left and right. The nearest chap flops down without a groan, His face still snarling with the rage of fight. Ha! here's the second trench—just like the first, Only a little more so, more "laid out"; More pounded, flame-corroded, death-accurst; A pretty piece of work, beyond a doubt. Now for the third, and there your job is done, SO ON YOU CHARGE. You never stop to think. ”

“ And mortal puppets playing parts are we:
Then let's have faith; good cometh out of ill;
The power that shaped the strife shall end the strife;
Then let's bow down before the Unknown Will;
Fight on, believing all is well with life ”

“ For through it all like horror runs The red resentment of the guns. And you yourself would mutter when You took the things that once were men, And sped them through that zone of hate To where the dripping surgeons wait; And wonder too if in God's sight War ever, ever can be right. ”

“ Then our Victory is a vast defeat, and it mocks us as we cheer. Victory! there can be but one, hallowed in every land: When by the graves of our common dead we who were foemen stand; And in the hush of our common grief hand is tendered to hand. ”

“ I watch the angry shell flame flash and follow In feather puffs that flick a tilted wing; And then it fades, with shrapnel mirror's flashing; The flashes bloom to blossoms lily gold; The batteries are rancorously crashing, And life is just as full as it can hold. ”

“ Yes, when out of the dust in the splendour of their release The spirits of those who fell go forth and they hallow our hearts to peace, And, brothers in pain, with world-wide voice, we clamour that War shall cease. ”

“ And here where our graves will be greening, Just smile and be happy again.' And so, when the war will be over, We'll seek for the Wonderful One; And maiden will look for her lover, And mother will look for her son; And there will be end to our grieving, And gladness will gleam over loss, As—glory beyond all believing! ”

“ We'll march with men and we'll fight with men, and we'll see men laugh and die; We'll know such joy as we never dreamed; we'll fathom the deeps of pain: But the hardest bit of it all will be—when we come back home again. For some of us smirk in a chiffon shop, and some of us teach in a school; Some of us help with the seat of our pants to polish an office stool ”

“ Think ye our glory and gain will pay for the torrent of blood we have shed? By the cheers of our Victory will the heart of the mother be comforted? If by the Victory all we mean is a broken and brooding foe ”

“ I've fought in bloody battles, and I've 'ad a 'eap of fun; But now me flipper's busted, and I think me dooty's done, And I'll kiss me gel in Blighty in the mawnin'. Oh, there be furrin' lands to see, and some of 'em be fine; And there be furrin' gels to kiss, and scented furrin' wine; But there's no land like England, and no other gel like mine: Thank Gawd for dear old Blighty in the mawnin'.
Cocotte When a girl's sixteen, and as poor as she's pretty, And she hasn't a friend and she hasn't a home, Heigh-ho! She's as safe in Paris city As a lamb night-strayed where the wild wolves roam ”

“ And faces white from the office light will be bronzed by the open air; And we'll walk with the stride of a new-born pride, with a new-found joy in our eyes, Scornful men who have diced with death under the naked skies. ”

“ When our children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be; When we thank our God for our grief to-day, and blazon from sea to sea In the name of the Dead the banner of Peace . . . THAT WILL BE VICTORY.
The Twins There were two brothers, John and James, And when the town went up in flames, To save the house of James dashed John, Then turned, and lo! ”

“ Oh, we're booked for the Great Adventure now, we're pledged to the Real Romance; We'll find ourselves or we'll lose ourselves somewhere in giddy old France; We'll know the zest of the fighter's life; the best that we have we'll give; We'll hunger and thirst; we'll die . ”

“ And women fix me with eyes of scorning, Call me "cocotte", but I do not care. And men look at me with eyes that borrow The brightness of love, but I turn away; Alone, say I, I will live with Sorrow, In my little villa at Viroflay. ”