"Taffy’s got his Jennie in Glamorgan, Sandy’s got his Maggie in Dundee, While Michael O’Leary thinks of his dearie Far across the Irish Sea. Billy’s got his Lily up in London, So the boys march on with smiles; For every Tommy’s got a girl somewhere In the dear old British Isles." Again the mood veers round, and we hear, "Every little while I feel so lonely, Every little while I feel so blue, I’m always dreaming, I’m always scheming, Because I want you, and only you. Every little while my heart is aching, Every little while I miss your smile, And all the time I seem to miss you; I want to, want to kiss you, Every, every, every little while." Here is part of a song I have heard sung, many and many a time, by young officers and men whose voices are now silent in death: "If you were the only girl in the world, And I were the only boy, Nothing else would matter in the world to-day, We could go on loving in the same old way; A Garden of Eden just made for two, With nothing to mar our joy; I would say such wonderful things to you, There would be such wonderful things to do, If you were the only girl in the world, And I were the only boy." Sometimes the imagination will wander into the days that are to be--for some--and they sing, "We don’t want a lot of flags flying, We don’t want your big brass bands; We don’t want a lot of speechifying, And we don’t want a lot of waving hands; We don’t want a lot of interfering, When we’ve safely crossed the foam; But we _do_ want to find the girls we left behind, When we all come marching home." Will the girls remember! The words are not without tragedy. How deeply some of the men love may perhaps never be realized by those at home. The longing of their hearts is, at times, almost unbearable. A captain, past middle life, took my arm one day and led me aside. He was, he said, a little anxious about himself, for he was getting into the habit of taking more drink than he was wont to take. He had been taking it when he felt lonely and depressed to ease the longing of his heart. "I never touch it at home," he said, "the society of my dear little wife is all the stimulant I need. I would give the world to be with her now--just to sit in my chair and watch her at her sewing or knitting. The separation is too much for me and, you know, it has lasted nearly three years now." I have caught this yearning in more than one of the songs our soldiers sing, but especially in the following, which is called "Absent": "Sometimes, between long shadows on the grass, The little truant waves of sunlight pass; My eyes grow dim with tenderness, the while Thinking I see thee, thinking I see thee smile.