This is the song that our guns keep singing, Here where the dark steel shines; This is the song with their big shells winging Over the German lines— “We are taking you home by the shortest way, We are taking you out of this blood and slime To the land you left in an ancient day, Where lost lanes wander at twilight time; We are bringing you peace In the swift release From the grind where the gas drifts blur; On a steel shod track We are taking you back, We are taking you back to Her!” This is the song that our guns keep roaring, Out through the night and rain; This is the song with their big shell soaring Over the battered plain— “We are taking you home by the only way, By the only road that will get you back To the dreams you left where the dusk was gray And the night wind sang of a long-lost track; We are bringing you rest From the bitter test, From the pits where the great shells whirr; Through the bloody loam We are taking you home, We are taking you home to Her!” GRANTLAND RICE, 1st Lt., F.A. THROUGH THE WHEAT (The Sergeant’s Story) “There’s a job out there before us,” Said the Captain, kinder solemn; “There’s a crop out there to gather Through the wheat fields just ahead.” Through the wheat of Château-Thierry That was soon to hold our column, “There’s a crop out there to gather,” That was all the Captain said. (Oh, at dawn the wheat was yellow, But at night the wheat was red.) “There’s a crop out there to gather,” And we felt contentment stealin’ Like a ghost from out the shadows Of a lost, old-fashioned street; For the crop out there before us Brought a kinder home-like feelin’, Though the zippin’ German bullets Started hissin’ through the wheat. But it didn’t seem to bother As we slogged along the beat.