Strange tricks that jade of fortune plays upon the field of strife, And so it came in war's great game I owed to Bill my life. We didn't meet till on the Somme-- In No-Man's Land I lay most gone, While over head the bright sun shone, And shrapnel shells were flying. Then suddenly I felt a thrill. I heard the voice of fighting Bill For his old foeman calling. I did my best to cry hello; it was too great a strain; But in a haze I saw his face and heard him call again. I knew him by the broken nose I gave him once when we'd had blows At one of our big country shows, When I gave him a mauling, And then he spied me and cried--Joe! I raised to greet him kind of slow, And then he caught me falling. Such things as this don't happen much, but they do happen though, And he's a different Bill to-day and I'm a different Joe. We're back again in that same town. He up the street where I live down, And when we meet, we _never_ frown, But we're still Grit and Tory. "DE FIGHTIN' FISHERMAN" Oh, de fish she's all glad in de river, De trout and de bass jomp wid glee, For de garcon dat scares all dere liver Is start o'er de ocean--sapre. De tackles all pack in de bunker, De rod he has change for a gun, Soon he'll troll in a trench for a junker Wit' a steel bullet fit for a Hun. For Joe he has tak' the King's shilling. He march to the Barriefield Camp, He show he is able and willing, He's de man of de most best stamp. So Joe when we hear dat you're goin' We know that it won't be for play, An' we lak to giv' somethin' for showin' We don't forget dem dats away. An' mebbe when you res' from de fightin', Wit' dis keepsake pipe in your jaws, A dream of the office may lighten, Or your islan' camp, up by de Chats.[1] Fly de flag on de ole _Foxy Quiller_, She be sad till you come back again, A medalled and famous man-killer, Who laid by de rod to hunt men. An' if in de fight, as in fishin', You handle de gun like de rod, I t'ink Kaiser Bill will be wishin' You never come over,--by God. An' jes' at dis time when de nation Sends her braves' sons over de sea, We give you our heart's salutation, Au revoir,--and God bless you, Bebe. Dere's plenty close shave in dis razor, An' de time piece gives radian' light, An' sometam you may capture de Kaiser If he tries to creep up in de night. [1] Chats, a waterfall on the Ottawa, pronounced as Shaw. MONSIEUR POILU You'd say that he was plucky, If you saw him in a trench. It matters not how mucky You'd know that he was French. Monsieur Poilu, gay and eager in his tattered, war-stained coat, Sniping Germans as a pastime with the laughter in his throat. Here's looking at you, Poilu, dashing son of gallant France, You're a gentleman and soldier and you take a fighting chance.