PASSING THE BUCK _Sergt. Norman E. Nygaard_ 32
PERSHING AT THE TOMB OF LAFAYETTE _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 52
PRESENT BATTLEFIELD, THE _Wright Field_ 197
RAIN ON YOUR OLD TIN HAT _Lieut. J. H. Wickersham_ 182
RETURN, THE _Theodore Howard Banks, Jr._ 33
ROAD TO FRANCE, THE _Daniel M. Henderson_ 46
SERVICE FLAG, THE _William Herschell_ 154
SHIPS THAT SAIL IN THE NIGHT _Dysart McMullen_ 126
SOLDIERS OF THE SOIL _Everard Jack Appleton_ 44
SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE _Le Roy C. Henderson_ 157
SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE, 1918 _Almon Hensley_ 132
SONG OF THE DEAD, THE _J. H. M. Abbott_ 161
SONG OF THE GUNS, THE _Herbert Kaufman_ 134
SONG OF THE WINDS _Mary Lanier Magruder_ 163
SPIRES OF OXFORD, THE _Winifred M. Letts_ 114
THERE WILL BE DREAMS AGAIN _Mabel Hillyer Eastman_ 171
THEY SHALL RETURN _J. Lewis Milligan_ 179
TO SERVE IS TO GAIN _Charles H. Mackintosh_ 179
TO THE WRITER OF “CHRIST IN FLANDERS” _E. M. V._ 69
TWO VIEWPOINTS _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 83
UNKNOWN SOLDIER ARMISTICE DAY AT ARLINGTON, THE _Grantland Rice_ 200
VIVE LA FRANCE! _Charlotte Holmes Crawford_ 139
WAYSIDE IN FRANCE, A _Adolphe E. Smylie_ 76
WE’RE MARCHIN’ WITH THE COUNTRY _Frank L. Stanton_ 151
WHEN PRIVATE MUGRUMS PARLEY VOOS _Pvt. Charles Divine_ 186
WITH THE SAME PRIDE _Theodosia Garrison_ 116
WOES OF A ROOKIE, THE _William L. Colestock_ 141
YOUR LAD, AND MY LAD _Randall Parrish_ 112
MILITARY CROSS, DEVON REGIMENT--KILLED IN BATTLE
From “Verse and Prose in Peace and War.” John Murray, Publisher, London. Permission to reproduce in this book.
By all the glories of the day, And the cool evening’s benison; By the last sunset touch that lay Upon the hills when day was done: By beauty lavishly outpoured, And blessings carelessly received, By all the days that I have lived, Make me a soldier, Lord.
By all of human hopes and fears, By all the wonders poets sing, The laughter of unclouded years, And every sad and lovely thing: By the romantic ages stored With high endeavor that was his, By all his mad catastrophes, Make me a man, O Lord.
I, that on my familiar hill Saw with uncomprehending eyes A hundred of Thy sunsets spill Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice, Ere the sun swings his noonday sword Must say good-bye to all of this: By all delights that I shall miss, Help me to die, O Lord.