Abstemious, very, when prices are high, He learns to be merry without any pie; An expert at poker, with money to spare, A down and out broker who plays solitaire; An orator forceful, a whale to invent, O Sammy's resourceful, a versatile gent, Though late in the race, Sam, we wish you good luck, Come on, take your place, Sam, with Johnnie Canuck. FRANCE TO COLUMBIA November, 1916 Columbia, my sister, Republic great and free, When Liberty was threatened I looked in vain to thee; That hope was vain, my sister, You lost your greatest chance; Men live on lies in Utah, Men die for truth in France. Columbia, my sister, You saw my blood run red, My sons and daughters murdered, The tears my orphans shed; You raised no voice in protest, To stop the Hun's advance; Men live at ease in Kansas, With hell let loose in France. Columbia, my sister, Your children you have seen, Drowned in the cruel ocean By German submarine; But baseball is important, The theatre and dance, And pleasure rules in Texas While horror reigns in France. Columbia, my sister, In sordid love of gain Your vultures and hyenas Wax fat upon the slain; The nations, sorrow stricken, Receive your careless glance, And wealth in Massachusetts Means poverty in France. Columbia, my sister, I know your heart is right, Though on your head has fallen This hellish Hunnish blight; I love you still, my sister, And warn you, lest perchance The Huns may rule Wisconsin When driven out of France. JIM'S SACRIFICE Jim marched away one summer day To fight the boastful Hun, In khaki clad, as fine a lad As ever carried gun, No braver knight e'er went to fight, In shining coat of mail, In days of old, for love or gold, Or for the Holy Grail. His aim was sure, his heart was pure, Like good Sir Galahad, He played the game when hardships came His face was always glad, Until, by chance, somewhere in France, He saw a "Hometown Sun," He read one page, then in a rage He strafed it like a Hun. The girl he loved had faithless proved, And German slacker wed; That cruel stroke Jim's spirit broke, He wished that he were dead. He who had been so straight and clean, And every fellow's chum, Now lived apart with hardened heart, And soaked himself with rum. 'Mid rats and mice and fleas and lice He spent his days and nights; Waist deep in mud, besmeared with blood, He fought a hundred fights; His faith was lost, the angel host Of Mons he didn't see; No Comrade White beheld his plight, With loving sympathy.