But would the chance were mine with you to stand Upon those shores and see our flag unfurled! To fight on France’s brave, unconquered land With Liberty’s great sword for all the world!
Beyond the waves, my son, the siren calls, The sky is black and Fastnet lies abreast; A signal rocket flings its stars and falls Across the night to welcome England’s guest.
When mid the scud you see the Cornish lights, And through the mist you hear faint Devon chimes, Thank God for memories of those other nights And days on other ships in happier times.
Perhaps you’ll stand within the pillared nave And aisles where colored sundust falls, and see Old Canterbury Church where Becket gave His life’s best blood for England’s liberty!
Some night you’ll walk, perhaps, on Salisbury plain; Above Stonehenge the Druid’s stars still sleep, And on the turf within the circled fane Beneath the autumn moon still lie the sheep.
And if you march beside some Kentish hedge, And blackberries hang thick clustered o’er the ways, Pluck down a branch! Rest by the road’s brown edge; Eat! Nor forget our last vacation days!
And then the trench in battle-scarred Lorraine; The town half burned but held in spite of hell; The bridge twice taken, lost, and won again; The cratered glacis ripped with mine and shell.
The leafless trees, bare-branched in spite of June; The sodden road, the desolated plain; The mateless birds, the season out of tune; Fair France, at bay, is calling through her pain.
Oh, son! My son! God keep you safe and free-- Our flag and you! But if the hour must come To choose at last ’twixt self and liberty-- We’ll close our eyes! So let God’s will be done!
From this author’s “Our Navy at Work,” published by the Bobbs-Merrill Co. In 1917, our Government took over a large number of pleasure-yachts, fitted them with a few light guns and depth-charges and sent them into French waters to hunt submarines. They were variously known as “The Suicide Fleet” and “Easter-Eggs.” Mr. Kauffman spent some time at sea with them. Permission to reproduce in this book.
Now, Mr. Wall of Wall St., he built himself a yacht, And he built that yacht for comfort and for speed; He didn’t mean that it should go Beyond a hundred miles or so; He wanted something made for show, Where he could drink and feed.