Rookie rhymes, by the men of the 1st and 2nd provisional training regiments, Plattsburg, New YorkPlattsburgh Barracks (N.Y.)
History
Rookie rhymes, by the men of the 1st and 2nd provisional training regiments, Plattsburg, New York
Plattsburgh Barracks (N.Y.)
American poetry -- Collections; World War, 1914-1918 -- Poetry
Your lips say "Go!"
Eyes plead "Stay"--
Ah, how I know
What price you pay.
THE PLATTSBURG CODE
1
By Lake Champlain, where Bourbon tossed
The dice of fortune and romance,
Where red-coats won and red-coats lost,
We soldiers train to fight in France.
Though with no pomp and elegance
Of gold-laced beaux, we have their same
Old code of pluck and nonchalance--
"God give us guts to play the game."
2
May winds that sing like troubadours
Of musket, sword and daring deed,
And ideals won in early wars,
Inspire each warrior to succeed;
To fight that nations may be freed,
And through all hardships make his aim
The punch of old-time heroes' creed--
God give us guts to play the game.
3
And if to-morrow--who can tell?--
We hike along a hot white French
Highway, exposed to shrapnel shell,
Or occupy a first-line trench,
'Midst poisoned gas and dead men's stench,
And hand grenades that burst and maim;
May not all hell our spirit quench--
God give us guts to play the game.
4
If through entangled wires and mud,
Charging the Boche, we madly run,
With comrades dropping, dyed with blood,
And sickening sights and sounds that stun,
And in death's duel meet the Hun
'Midst shell holes, smoke, and battle flame,
Steel clashing steel and gun to gun--
God give us guts to play the game.
[Illustration]
A CONFERENCE
I was sleeping in the barracks,
A week or so ago.
And in the midst of pleasant dreams
I heard the whistle blow.
Lord, how I hate those whistles!
Well, it was time to "rouse,"
So we marched down 'mongst the thistles
Beside the old ice house.
I looked around in misery,
At last I took a seat,
With nothing to lean up against
And no place for my feet.
As I sat there in the drizzle
Of a good old Plattsburg rain,
I wondered if I'd fizzle
The lesson once again.
The captain, who, like Nero
Observing Rome in flames,
Was seated on a packing-box
Perusing all the names.
"Mr. Whitney, won't you tell us
Of patrols both front and rear?
Speak up, Mr. Whitney,
So the men in back can hear."
"And please now, Mr. Warnock,
Just tell us if you will
What you'd do with this problem
If you were Sergeant Hill?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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