We all were soft and flabby-- Our hands and muscles, too-- We had been used to easy things To eat, to think, to do. But when we tackled trench work, With all that diggin' means, We learned to like the sojer grub, E-special-lee th' beans, Especially th' beans. So now we're very diff'rent When mess-call comes around; We've got our appetites all set A-waitin' for that sound; It's always "second helpin's" Behind the mess-tent screens; We're glad for Uncle Sam's good grub, E-special-lee th' beans, Especially th' beans! A very simple ditty, you'll agree with me; A commonplace production; but the joy And unction that he puts into the melody, The _splendid appetite_ he sings--Oh, Boy! BEHIND THE LINES We number hundreds of thousands, and we're nowhere near the front; We're pen and pencil pushers, or "serving" the adding machines; We'll never reach the firing-line, nor bear its hellish brunt-- But where'd _they_ be if it weren't for us, workers behind the scenes? Book-keeper, paymaster, spectacled clerk, Doing our bit, though it's every day work-- We're all of us part of The Service! We're the backwash whirl of the pool of War gathering in the men, We cannot fight as others fight, though just as loyal and true; We're the silent corps of the Men Behind, over and over again Doing our part in the war for Right, small though it seem to you. Figuring, checking-up, testing all day, Knowing no hours--and not too much pay-- We're all of us part of The Service. If it takes ten men behind the front to put one on the Line, (We all remember the speech that cheers the backwash, anyhow!) We're putting them there--and do not ask for furloughs.... That's a sign We're not the _guests_ of the Government--_we're in The Service now._ A cog in the big machine? Maybe-- But a cog that doesn't complain, you see-- We're _all_ of us part of The Service! THE DISAPPOINTED There's a Red Cross Button on his left lapel, And a Liberty Bond pin on his right; There's a U. S. flag above the Red Cross, too; His patriotism's never out of sight! His loyalty is spread on his hollow breast (And sometimes he's pathetic, I confess), But the button that he's most ashamed to wear Is the one that reads EXEMPT U. S. There's an aching heart in his 28-chest, There's a look of deep longing in his eyes; Behind his heavy glasses there gleams a hope That maybe he can grow an inch in size! There's a hero-throb in the heart of that boy, Though he wears too much "scenery"--ah, yes!-- But the badge that hurts he really tries to hide-- It's the one that reads EXEMPT U. S.