Let not our sighing nor our tears Fall on them through the coming years Who on the land, on sea, in air, With dauntless courage everywhere, Their homes and country glorified-- Stood to their arms and smiling died. Great France will leave no need nor room That we place flowers on their tomb-- And proudly o’er their resting place, Will float forever in its grace, O’er cross, and star, and symbol tag, Their own beloved country’s flag. The morning sun will gild with light, The stars keep holy watch at night, The winter spread soft pall of snow, The summer flowers about them grow, The sweet birds sing their springtime call God’s love and mercy guard them all. LET THERE BE LIGHT! RUTH WRIGHT KAUFFMAN IN THE RED CROSS MAGAZINE Permission to reproduce in this book Black with the blackness of hell and despair Village and village and village lay there; Never a candle and never a lamp-- Four hundred miles of the enemies’ camp. Trains of munitions that creak with their loads, Supplies, horses, soldiers engulfed by the roads; An ambulance crawling, a password, and then Through the shell-shattered houses the marching of men. Black with the blackness of wounds and of death The villages huddled there holding their breath; Black--till there rang this new order to “Cease”-- “It is over!--all over!--the war!--_there is peace!_ Come, dance on the ruins--Look, No Man’s Land there, “Verboten” for years, is a world’s thoroughfare; And village and village, remember the night, But turn it to day--and let there be light. The sorrow unburied, destruction--how much! Four hundred long miles for the taper to touch! The shades are undrawn, the lamps shining bright; It is dawn in the darkness; again There Is Light! THE PRESENT BATTLE-FIELD WRIGHT FIELD IN THE STARS AND STRIPES The war is over, over there, And Peace has made her bow-- But the Battle of Verdun is on At Jenkins’ Corners now! All’s still along the rippling Somme, Likewise at Belleau Wood-- But the Jenkins’ Corners Battle now Is merely going good! Now beaten into plowshares are The swords once dripping wet With human gore--but Heinies fall At Jenkins’ Corners yet! The smoke of cannon floats away In France, a fading cloud-- But the war at Jenkins’ Corners is Attracting quite a crowd! Pop Snider had a navvy there, And old Zeke Wade a son, And since the boys are home again, They’ve waded in like fun. The checker-board is moved away, A gas-mask takes its place; The floor is neatly sanded, so The campaign they may trace. Pop Snider knows what he’d have done, And Zekiel has his say On where they made the great mistake And nearly lost the day.