In the old wars of the world there were camp followers, Women of ancient sins who gave themselves for hire, Women of weak wills and strong desire. And, like the poison ivy in the woods That winds itself about tall virile trees Until it smothers them, so these Ruined the bodies and the souls of men. More evil were they than Red War itself, Or Pestilence, or Famine. Now in this war— This last most awful carnage of the world— All the old wickedness exists as then: But as a foul stream from a festering fen Is met and scattered by a mountain brook Leaping along its beautiful, bright course, So now the force Of these new Followers of the camp has come Straight from God’s Source To cleanse the world and cleanse the minds of men. Good women, of great courage and large hearts, Women whose slogan is self-sacrifice, Willing to pay the price God asks of pioneers, now play their parts In this stupendous drama of the age As Followers of the Camps. They come in the name of God our Father, They come in the name of Christ our Brother, They come in the name of All Humanity, To give their gold, their labour, and their love To help the suffering souls in this war-riddled earth, The New Women of the Race— The New Camp Followers— The Centuries shall do honour to their names. COME BACK CLEAN This is the song for a soldier To sing as he rides from home To the fields afar where the battles are Or over the ocean’s foam: ‘Whatever the dangers waiting In the lands I have not seen, If I do not fall—if I come back at all, Then I will come back clean. ‘I may lie in the mud of the trenches, I may reek with blood and mire, But I will control, by the God in my soul, The might of my man’s desire. I will fight my foe in the open, But my sword shall be sharp and keen For the foe within who would lure me to sin, And I will come back clean. ‘I may not leave for my children Brave medals that I have worn, But the blood in my veins shall leave no stains On bride or on babes unborn; And the scars that my body may carry Shall not be from deeds obscene, For my will shall say to the beast, _Obey_! And I will come back clean. ‘Oh, not on the fields of slaughter And not in the prison-cell, Or in hunger and cold is the story told By war, of its darkest hell. But the old, old sin of the senses Can tell what that word may mean To the soldiers’ wives and to innocent lives, And I will come back clean.’ CAMOUFLAGE