My previous book, “Army Ballads and Other Verses,” is the result of my experiences when serving as a private in Companies “L” and “G,” 23rd Infantry and Troop “I,” 5th Cavalry (Regulars), during the Philippine Insurrection of 1899-1902, and if “Army Ballads and Other Verses” is taken in conjunction with this volume, it is my hope together they may prove a fairly comprehensive anthology of the American soldier of recent times. E. C. G. Philadelphia, November 1st, 1919. CONTENTS PART I—TRENCH BALLADS _Trenches_ _Barb-Wire Posts_ _Feet_ _Your Gas-Mask_ _Slum and Beef Stew_ _Shell-Fire_ _Mr. Fly_ _The Salvation Army with the A. E. F._ _Shell-Holes_ _Food_ _Over the Top_ _The Battle Mother_ _Song of the Volunteers of 1917_ _O. D._ _Artillery Registering_ _Reciprocity_ _Trucks_ _Mademoiselle_ _The First Division_ _Little Gold Chevrons on My Cuffs_ _A Trip-Wire_ _The Favorite Song_ _Captain Blankburg_ _Little War Mothers_ _Interrupted Chow_ _S. O. S._ _The Gas-Proof Mule_ _Infantry of the World War_ _The Flowers of France_ _A First-Class Private_ _Birds of Battle_ _Only for You_ _Cooties_ _Old Fusee_ _The Colors of Blighty_ _When Nurse Comes in_ _Charlie Chaplin in Blighty_ _Two Worlds_ _Embarkation Home_ _The Statue of Liberty_ PART II—PRE-WAR POEMS _To France—1917_ _The Pacifist_ _Battle Hymn of ’17_ PART III—OTHER VERSES _My Sapphire_ _The Twins_ _On Sending My Book to an English Friend_ _Immortal Keats_ _To a Little Girl_ _God_ _The Golden Day_     _Notes_ MY COMRADES IN THE RANKS. _You chose no easy Service,     No safe job, friends of mine, But the mud of the shell-torn, trenches     And the foremost battle-line. No camouflage patriotism—     Though you had from a wealth to choose But the wicked work of No Man’s Land,     Filling a man’s-size shoes._ _You didn’t say you wouldn’t play     If you got no shoulder bars— You even placed your Country     Above a general’s stars: For shocking, very shocking,     You didn’t give a damn About your "social status,"     When you fought for Uncle Sam._ _Friends of mine, friends of mine,     I’ve shared your toil and tears— Your dangers and your little woes,     When days were turned to years. I may not make them understand     The things that you have done, But God bless you and God keep you—     Every blessed mother’s son._ PART I. TRENCH BALLADS. TRENCHES. Trenches dripping, wet and cold—     Trenches hot and dry— Long, drab, endless trenches     Stretching far and nigh. Zigzag, fretted, running sere     From the cold North Sea, ’Cross the muddy Flanders plain     And vales of Picardy. Through the fields of new, green wheat     Filled with poppies red, While abandoned plow-shares show     Whence the peasants fled. Past the great cathedral towns,     Where each gorgeous spire Torn and tottering, slowly wilts     ‘Neath the Vandals’ ire.