Running stream! Running stream! Ruddy tench and silver perch: Shakespeare loved the water’s gleam Sparkling on by Welford church: Water fay meets woodland gnome Where the silver eddies foam Thro’ the richly scented loam: We are fain to see our home, See again thy silver gleam, Running stream! Running stream! Silver throats! Silver throats! Piping blackbird, trilling thrush: Shakespeare heard your merry notes; Still you herald morning’s blush: You shall sing your anthems grand When we’ve finished what He planned. God will hear and understand. God will give us back our land Where the water-lily floats, Silver throats! Silver throats! A SONG OF THE AIR GORDON ALCHIN From “Oxford and Flanders.” B. H. Blackwell, Publishers, Oxford, England. Special permission to reproduce in this book. This is the song of the Plane-- The creaking, shrieking plane, The throbbing, sobbing plane, And the moaning, groaning wires:-- The engine--missing again! One cylinder never fires! Hey ho! for the Plane! This is the song of the Man-- The driving, striving man, The chosen, frozen man:-- The pilot, the man-at-the-wheel, Whose limit is all that he can, And beyond, if the need is real! Hey ho! for the Man! This is the song of the Gun-- The muttering, stuttering gun, The maddening, gladdening gun:-- That chuckles with evil glee At the last, long drive of the Hun, With its end in eternity! Hey ho! for the Gun! This is the song of the Air-- The lifting, drifting air, The eddying, steadying air, The wine of its limitless space:-- May it nerve us at last to dare Even death with undaunted face! Hey ho! for the Air! VICTORY! S. J. DUNCAN-CLARK IN THE CHICAGO EVENING POST, NOVEMBER 11, 1918 Permission to reproduce in this book