No More Learning

He don't cut any ice at all
In Fashion's social plan,
He gets the job to face a mob,
The Regular Army man;
The milling, drilling,
Made for killing,
Regular Army man.

There ain't no tears shed over him
When he goes off to war,
He gets no speech nor prayerful preach
From mayor or governor;
He packs his little knapsack up
And trots off in the van,
To start the fight and start it right,
The Regular Army man;
The rattling, battling,
Colt or Gatling,
Regular Army man.

He makes no fuss about the job,
He don't talk big or brave,
He knows he's in to fight and win,
Or help fill up a grave;
He ain't no Mama's darling, but
He does the best he can,
And he's the chap that wins the scrap,
The Regular Army man;
The dandy, handy,
Cool and sandy,
Regular Army man.





WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN

GUY WETMORE CARRYL

[Sidenote: August 20, 1898]
_A week after the signing of the treaty of peace with Spain,
Sampson's fleet came into New York harbor. _

To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea,
On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost
isles are free;
And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill,
Breaker and beach cry, each to each, "'Tis the Mother who
calls! Be still! "
Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,
Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm,
Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam,
Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this
time home!

And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest;
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle-blast the length of the long blockade;
And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is "Peace! Thank
God for peace! "

Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show
The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go;
How, when the stirring summons smote on her children's ear,
South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land
answered "Here! "
For the soul of the soldier's story and the heart of the sailor's song
Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong,
Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the
decks they trod,
Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their
country's God!
Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,
To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea,
To see the day steal up the bay, where the enemy lies in wait,
To run your ship to the harbor's lip and sink her across the strait:--
But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for home,
And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam,
And the people wait at the haven's gate to greet the men who win!
Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, when the great
gray ships come in!





AD FINEM FIDELES

GUY WETMORE CARRYL

[Sidenote: 1898]
_This was written just after the end of the war with Spain for
the freeing of Cuba. _


Far out, far out they lie. Like stricken women weeping,
Eternal vigil keeping with slow and silent tread--
Soft-shod as are the fairies, the winds patrol the prairies,
The sentinels of God about the pale and patient dead!
Above them, as they slumber in graves that none may number,
Dawns grow to day, days dim to dusk, and dusks in darkness
pass;
Unheeded springs are born, unheeded summers brighten,
And winters wait to whiten the wilderness of grass.

Slow stride appointed years across their bivouac places,
With stern, devoted faces they lie, as when they lay,
In long battalions dreaming, till dawn, to eastward gleaming,
Awoke the clarion greeting of the bugles to the day.
The still and stealthy speeding of the pilgrim days unheeding,
At rest upon the roadway that their feet unfaltering trod,
The faithful unto death abide, with trust unshaken,
The morn when they shall waken to the reveille of God.

The faithful unto death! Their sleeping-places over
The torn and trampled clover to braver beauty blows;
Of all their grim campaigning no sight or sound remaining,
The memory of them mutely to greater glory grows.
Through waning ages winding, new inspiration finding,
Their creed of consecration like a silver ribbon runs,
Sole relic of the strife that woke the world to wonder
With riot and the thunder of a sundered people's guns.

What matters now the cause? As little children resting,
No more the battle breasting to the rumble of the drums,
Enlinked by duty's tether, the blue and gray together,
They wait the great hereafter when the last assembly comes.
Where'er the summons found them, whate'er the tie that bound them,
'Tis this alone the record of the sleeping army saith:--

They knew no creed but this, in duty not to falter,
With strength that naught could alter to be faithful unto death.





GROVER CLEVELAND

JOEL BENTON

[Sidenote: 1837-1908]
_On June 24, 1908, Grover Cleveland, twice President of the
United States, died at his home in Princeton, N.