Here where these jagged slashes in the yellow earth have formed a glorious tomb for three hundred thousand gallant French--here is the testing ground of our destiny. Here they have held for us our heritage! Here they have perished in the eternal splendor of self-sacrifice for us! Here is their borderland--and ours! Here they have written with their ebbing blood the slogan that has thrilled the world--“They shall not pass!” The gaunt and sinister craters, one merging into the ragged rim of another, the bits of shell, the battered helmets, broken guns, ill-assorted refuse of combat--each shattered particle a marker for some valiant soul “gone west” in service of humanity. Here, over this land glorified by a nobility of deed than which there has been no more exalted, must our war be waged. Out of this hallowed ground comes the call of those who have given of their best--the call to our great land for Old Glory’s best! There will come to us wounds that will rack our bodies and drain the coursing blood of our vibrant veins. There will come to us the aching pain of suffering and loss--here on these red fields of France. But we will save our souls and our nation’s soul! And we will save our heritage and give to the billions of the world the right to theirs. So the brown ribbon of youth winds across the sea--to Verdun and to the long, thin lines on either side. Here will we prove our right to life and liberty! Brown ribbon of promise! Hoping, longing, wounded France! Brown ribbon of youth and high resolve! Brown ribbon of Liberty! Here at Verdun! THE ANXIOUS ANTHEMIST GUY FORRESTER LEE IN THE CHICAGO SUNDAY TRIBUNE Written when the Allied armies were chasing the Germans across the fields of France and Flanders, in the summer of 1918. I sit down to write a poem of our fighting men’s renown, And I scarce get fairly started when they take another town. A British commentator’s praise I versify, and then A Frenchman up and multiplies the happy words by ten. The cable service headlines say the Yankees swat the Hun, But ere I get a jingle framed they’ve got more on the run. I’d like to be their Boswell in a khaki-lauding gem, But darn those doughboys’ peppy hides--I can’t keep up with them! It tickles me quite some to hear of how they’re spreading Teuts Around the landscape, and I’ll say their ways and means are beauts; The Fritzian din of “Kamerad” is drowning out the shells As U. S. shockers shock the shockers with their own pet hells. I want the good work to go on, but I have one request To make of them before they lay the kaiser out to rest, And that is this: Don’t stop your war; continue till you’ve won, But kindly take a lay-off till I get this anthem done! A RIDE IN FRANCE “O. C. PLATOON” IN THE MANCHESTER (ENGLAND) GUARDIAN