God go with you on your mission, And in His all-wise decision Turn this tide of war to you, Boy in khaki, boy in blue.
With the Stars and Stripes high o’er you, Snatch the vic’try just before you, Heaven keep, encompass you, Boy in khaki, boy in blue.
When the foe is rent asunder, And the world looks on in wonder, Paying tribute rare to you, Boy in khaki, boy in blue,
God return you safe to me; To Columbia--Liberty; ’Tis my prayer, my hope for you, Boy in khaki, boy in blue.
He was a French Boy Scout--a little lad No bigger than my Hansel. He refused To tell if any of his countrymen Were hidden thereabout. Fifty yards on We ran into an ambush. Well, of course We shot him--little fool! Poor little fool! Thinking himself a hero as he stood Facing our guns, so little and so young Against the sunny vineyard-green, I thought What wasted courage! for the child was brave, Fool as he was. The pity ...
Here there came A sudden shrapnel, and the writing stopped....
_Did I write that? O God--did I write that? Mine--they were mine, the folly and the waste. Now the keen edge of death has cut away The eyelids of my soul and I must bear The perfect understanding of the dead. Now that I know myself as I am known, How shall my soul endure Eternity? God, God, if there be pity left for me, Send to my son the child that I despised A messenger to burn into his soul While still he lives, the truth I died to learn!_
Through the dark night And the fury of battle Pass the destroyers in showers of spray. As the Wolf-pack to the flank of the cattle, We shall close in on them--shadows of gray. In from ahead, Through shell-flashes red, We shall come down to them, after the Day, Whistle and crash Of salvo and volley Round us and into us as we attack Light on our target they’ll flash in their folly, Splitting our ears with shrapnel-crack. Fire as they will, We’ll come to them still, Roar as they may at us--Back--Go Back! White though the sea To the shell-splashes foaming, We shall be there at the death of the Hun. Only we pray for a star in the gloaming (Light for torpedoes and none for a gun). Lord--of Thy Grace Make it a race, Over the sea with the night to run.
“It is long since knighthood was in flower, There are no men today who tower Above their kind--the knights are dust, Their names forgot, their good swords rust,” We idly say. And yet, in truth-- The brave soul has eternal youth, Like the great lighthouse rising free, Whose far-flung beams guide ships at sea, God lifts above his fellow man A steadfast soul to dare and plan, A king of men, by right divine, Who in his forehead bears the sign-- He walks along the city street; Unknowing, in the fields we meet A modern knight in whose hand lies A mighty Nation’s destinies.