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- Hello, Boys! - 6/13 -

Our Motherland, dear Motherland, The source of beauty and of Art, Who but thy children understand The love which permeates each heart! We see, through rainbow-tints of tears, Thy glory of a thousand years. O country of the Great and Free, We live for thee, we live for thee, Dear Motherland of France.

O Motherland, both blithe and brave, What magic lies in thy name--France! Yet can thy radiant mien be grave, And stern thy ever-smiling glance. And when thy sons and daughters know That enemies would lay thee low And dim thy fame on land and sea, We fight for thee, we fight for thee, Dear Motherland of France.

Dear Motherland of joy and mirth, Dear Motherland of faith divine, A thousand years the wondering earth Has seen thy star in splendour shine. Still shall it see that star of France Its splendour and its light enhance. Dear Motherland, when it need be We die for thee, we die for thee, Dear Motherland of France.


Back of each soldier who fights for France, Ay, back of each woman and man Who toils and prays through these long tense days, Is the spirit of Great Joan. For the love she gave, and the life she gave, In the eyes of God sufficed To crown her with light, and power, and might, That made her second to Christ.

And so in that hour at the Marne she came, To the seeing eyes of men; And the blind of view still felt and knew That her spirit had come again. And she will come in each crucial hour And joy shall follow despair, For Joan sees her France on its knees And she hears the voice of its prayer.

There is no hate in the heart of France, But a mighty moral force That takes its stand for her worshipped land, And cannot be swerved from its course. For this is the way with France to-day, Her courage comes from faith, And she bends her knee ere she straightens her arm; In her forward rush toward death.

A jungle of beasts in the heart of the Hun - War to the world laid bare. And war has revealed, that France concealed, Only the lion's lair. A lioness fighting to save her own, She fights as a lioness can, And strength to the end shall the Unseen send, In the spirit of Great Joan.


Obscured the sun, the world is dark; Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Send down thy spark.

Let every heart in France be stirred, By such an all-compelling word As thou once heard.

Say to each soul, 'Lo! I am near; My voice still speaks in accents clear. Be still and hear.

'The France I saved can not be lost; Though tempest-torn and terror-tossed, Count not the cost.

'Give as the maid of Domremy Gave all--gave life itself to see Her country free.

'Back of great France my spirit towers To aid her through the darkest hours With God's own powers!'

Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Shine through the night, speak through the dark The while we hark.


Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine, And I think every fellow will state That the 'what-you-may-call-it' coiffured way They put up their hair is great! And they know how to dress, and they wear their clothes In a fetching, Frenchy way; And yet to me, there is just one girl - The girl of the U.S.A.

I like to listen when French girls talk, Though I'm weak in the 'parlez-vous' game; But the language of youth in every land Is somehow about the same, And I've learned a regular code of shrugs, And they seem to know what I say! But the girl whose voice goes straight to my heart Is the girl of the U.S.A.

I haven't a word but words of praise For these dear little girls of France; And I will confess that I've felt a thrill As I faced their line of advance! But I haven't been taken a prisoner yet, And I won't be, until the day When I carry my colours to lay at the feet Of a girl of the U.S.A.


Whatever the task that comes your way, Just take it as part of your luck. Look it right square in the eyes, and say, 'This is MY task, I'll do it to-day': Don't pass the buck.

Oh! whether you cook, or whether you fight, Or whether you trundle a truck, Just tackle your job and do it right: Don't pass the buck.

The wheels of the earth have gone, alack! Deep into war's mire and muck. If you want to put it again on its track, Don't shift your load on another man's back: Don't pass the buck.


You may thrill with the speed of your thoroughbred steed, You may laugh with delight as you ride the ocean, You may rush afar in your touring car, Leaping, sweeping, by things that are creeping - But you never will know the joy of motion Till you rise up over the earth some day, And soar like an eagle, away--away.

High and higher above each spire, Till lost to sight is the tallest steeple, With the winds you chase in a valiant race, Looping, swooping, where mountains are grouping, Hailing them comrades, in place of people. Oh! vast is the rapture the birdman knows, As into the ether he mounts and goes. He is over the sphere of human fear; He has come into touch with things supernal. At each man's gate death stands await; And dying, flying, were better than lying In sick-beds, crying for life eternal. Better to fly half-way to God Than to burrow too long like a worm in the sod.


We are the army stevedores, lusty and virile and strong,

Hello, Boys! - 6/13

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