When the mess sergeant’s gay, you can bet hell’s to pay For the boys who are standing in line; When the boys get a square, then the sergeant is there With your death warrant ready to sign. If you’re long on the grub, then you’re damned for a dub, If you’re short, you’re a miser instead, But, however you feel, you must get the next meal-- You know what Napoleon said. You think it’s a cinch when you come to the clinch For the man who is grinding the meat; In the heat of the fight, why the cook’s out of sight With plenty of room to retreat. But a plump of a shell in a kitchen is hell When the roof scatters over your head, And you crawl on your knees to pick up the K. P.’s-- You know what Napoleon said. If the war ever ends, we’ll go back to our friends-- In the army we’ve nary a one; We’ll list to the prattle of this or that battle, And then, when the story is done, We’ll say, when they ask, “Now what was your task, And what is the glory you shed?” “You see how they thrive--well, we kept ’em alive! You know what Napoleon said.” THE DRUM JOSEPH LEE “Come to me, and I will give you flesh.”--Old Pibrochadh. Come! Says the drum; Though graves be hollow, Yet follow, follow: Come! Says the drum. Life! Shrills the fife, Is in strife-- Leave love and wife: Come! Says the drum. Ripe! Screams the pipe, Is the field-- Swords and not sickles wield: Come! Says the drum. The drum Says, Come! Though graves be hollow, Yet follow, follow: Come! Says the drum. THE GREAT ADVENTURE MAJOR KENDALL BANNING SIGNAL RESERVE CORPS, AVIATION SECTION, U. S. ARMY God, the Master Pilot, Or gods, if such there be-- Pour me no weakling’s measure When ye pour the wine for me! Of pain, of love, of pleasure, I’ll drain the draught ye give; Of good and ill, give me the fill Of the life ye bade me live! Spare me no tithe of favor, With fortune pave my path, Nor hold the hand of vengeance When I deserve your wrath. Whatever fates ye send me, Whatever cast the sky, Grant me the grace to live a man And as a man to die! Upon the good I render Let shine your proudest sun: And rest me in the valleys When my last trick is done. For these your utmost portions, I’ll pay the utmost toll, So this my life, become the great Adventure of my soul! TO THE WRITER OF “CHRIST IN FLANDERS” E. M. V. IN THE SPECTATOR On the battlefields of Flanders men have blessed you in their pain; For you told us Who was with us, and your words were not in vain. All you said was very gentle, but we felt you knew our ways; And we tried to find the Footprints we had missed in other days.