It will be all right in a thousand years--you won't be bankrupt then. This isn't the time of stocks and shares, it's just the age of men. The one that sticks it out will win--so don't lie down and bawl, But thank your God you've helped to win the noblest War of all. Away to the East in Flanders' mud, through Dante's dream of Hell, The troops are working hard for peace with bayonet, bomb, and shell, With poison gas and roaring guns beneath a smoking pall; Yes--thank your God your kin are there--the finest troops of all. You may be stripped of all you have--it may be all you say, But you'll have your life and eyesight left, so stow your talk of pay. You won't be dead in a bed of lime with those that heard the Call; So thank your God you've an easy job in the Greatest War of all. It isn't the money that's going to count when the Flanders' men return, And a shake of your hand from Flanders' men is a thing you've got to earn. Just think how cold it's going to be in the Nation's Judgment Hall; So damn your troubles and find your soul in the Greatest War of all! "... THAT HAVE NO DOUBTS" "... THAT HAVE NO DOUBTS." --RUDYARD KIPLING. _The last resort of Kings are we, but the voice of peoples too_-- Ask the guns of Valmy Ridge-- Lost at the Beresina Bridge, When the Russian guns were roaring death and the Guard was charging through. _Ultima Ratio Regis, we--but he who has may hold,_ Se curantes Dei curant, Hear the gunners that strain and pant, As when before the rising gale the Great Armada rolled. _Guns of fifty--sixty tons that roared at Jutland fight_, Clatter and clang of hoisting shell; See the flame where the salvo fell Amidst the flash of German guns against the wall of white. _The sons of English carronade or Spanish culverin_-- The Danish windows shivered and broke When over the sea the children spoke, And groaning turrets rocked again as we went out and in. _We have no passions to call our own, we work for serf or lord,_ Load us well and sponge us clean-- Be your woman a slave or queen-- And we will clear the road for you who hold us by the sword. _We come into our own again and wake to life anew_-- Put your paper and pens away, For the whole of the world is ours to-day, And we shall do the talking now to smooth the way for you. _Howitzer gun or Seventy-five, the game is ours to play,_ And hills may quiver and mountains shake, But the line in front shall bend or break. What is it to us if the world is mad? For we are the Kings to-day. SKY SIGNS SKY SIGNS.