The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)

THE FUGITIVE KISS

How I loved her! There on the gate we'd lean,(The dear, old gate that never gave awayThe loving nothings we were wont to say)From day to day,And sometimes after dark;She was my Angel-Sweetheart, just sixteen.But I was shy! And while I longed to tasteThe nectar of her lips, I was afraidTo draw her to my breast and kiss the Maid:But I essayed!And this is what I drew—"There's Papa with the bulldog, so make haste!"What could I do? The "bark" was flecked with foam,And old man Jones was meaner than a cur;So there I stood 'twixt fear, and love of herAnd didn't stirUntil they came: and thenI kissed them all Good-bye and beat it home.

NEW MEXICAN NATIONAL ANTHEM

My Country vast and grand,Sweet Montezuma Land,My Stingareé.Land of the Knife and Gun,Villa and Scorpion;Land of the Evil OneI weep for thee!Smallpox and RattlesnakesLurk in thy Cactus brakes,And Yellow Jack.Spiders and CentipedesGloat o'er thy murd'rous deeds:To cure thy crying needs,Call Diaz back.Tarantula and FliesPoison your lands and skies:Behold your graves!Carranza's waving beardBy Pancho's Band is feared,And will be till he's shearedOr dyes or shaves.Horned Toads and Vampire Bats,Gilas and Mountain Cats,Where'er you go!Buzzards and Vultures reignOver a million slain;And Mescal is the baneOf Mexico.O, Land of Chili conCarne and Obregon,Let murders cease!Keep Freedom's fires aglowWhere La Frijólés grow;Throw up your SombreroAnd Keep the Peace!

LOVE

ILove is the Mecca of our Heart's Desire:We worship at its shrine and feel its thrill;Burning our Hopes upon its Altar FireTill Passion be consumed, but not until.IIThen Love assumes a calmer mood, when spent—His quiver empty and his bow unstrung—And peers into the pleasing Past, contentTo live, unmoved, his memories among.

STRONGARM'S WATERLOO

Some drive! From tee to green in one: par, three!That's putting proper English on, you see!And, Goodness Golfus! See the ball roll upTo easy putting distance from the cup.Who is this man? Professional, no doubt!He'll "card" a thirty-seven going out;And if he gets the "breaks" he'll make, methinks,A new low record for the Piedmont Links.See with what confidence he wends his wayThe Fairway thru to make his hole out play!The Gallery, expectant, follows thruTo see the Champion go down in two.Then to the ball he makes his last address,(The ball was peeved at what he said, I guess)And pulls his gooseneck back a foot or soBefore he hits the sphere the fateful blow.Alas for human frailty! See it flitAcross the green into the sandy pit!The sighing winds, in protest, moaned Beware!While he invoked the Deity in prayer.And then he played his third, but topped the sphere,The Rubber Rogue responding with a leer.A halo hung around the Stranger's headIt seemed: but, nay! 'twas brimstone fire instead,For what he said, in type is not displayedExcept on fire-proof paper, I'm afraid.Four! Five! Six! But still far from the goal!The Player loses all his self-controlAnd breaks the "goose" in twain: then hark the din,When Caddie trails the ball and kicks it in!Far from the scene of strife the Club House becksThe weary Golfers on their inward treks;And close beside, beneath the porch's shade,The Nineteenth hole dispenses lemonadeAnd other cheering drinks, within the law;But little ice that cuts: who cares a straw?

THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE

Yes! I've done my bit, as you fellows would say,If serving one's country deserves any praise:Two years at the front, then an arm shot away!And this is my "cross" in reward for those days.But I can do more! While there's blood in my veinsI'll give the last drop, while the hoof of the HunPolluted and cloven in Alsace remains:Until France is free we must fight: every one!Of course I'll go back to the trenches again:My wound is fast healing and soon will be sound;Six chevrons have I, but I'll fight with the menWho fill up the shell-holes like moles in the ground.I'll charge with the Boys when they hurdle the top,The Tri-color lashed to my half-useless arm,With pistol or sword in my hand, till I drop:For Freedom is menaced: Go sound the alarm!France needs every son, be they crippled or strong,To rid our fair land of the murderous horde:So flock to the Colors, Brave Boys: come along!And fight till the Glory of France is restored!Our women are outraged, our children enslaved;Up, Frenchmen! and strike till the last dying breath!We can never turn back, so be it engravedOn our spears and escutcheons,—Vengeance or Death!

WAR

Down by the village runs the streamOnce placid, now a raging flood:Behold it, by the day's last gleamGorged with the dead and dyed with blood.The Chapel bell has tolled its last;The trees are bare, tho this be Spring:Death's shroud is on the village cast,And Ruin reigns o'er everything.A grist of carnage clogs the Mill,And shells have razed the quondam homes:Fresh graves the trampled vineyards fill,Whose cellars are but catacombs.Beyond the village, RefugeesStand, herded, cowed by fear and grief,Or, gassed, implore on bended kneesFor death, despairing of relief.With bayonets and faces setThe Grenadiers, by L'Aiglon led,Present a gruesome parapet,—Thus, still defending, tho they're dead.

SONG OF THE SAMSONS

We are Samsons, Biff! Boom! Bang!Here to pot the Potsdam Gang.If Bad Bill is found in Metz,We'll not vouch for what he gets!If in Essen he is caught,Good Night! Kultur, Him und Gott!Shades of Bismarck! Watch him faintWhen he finds his Empire ain't!To our Sweethearts we said "Knit,"We must go and do our Bit!How d'ye do, Pierrot? Pierrette?We are friends of Lafayette!Wait until our Drive begins,—Bill, you'll suffer for your sins!Sick 'em, Prince! We'll tie the fuseOnto Frederich Wilhelm's shoes.When we occupy Cologne—Phew! How big and strong you've grown!We will paint each shop and lodgeWith bright red in camouflage!Then to Carlsbad we will swing;Need the baths like everything!Frauleins leave your fears behind;We don't war on womankind!We are filled with fire and zeal:Watch us pick the locks to Kiel!We are coming to our ownIn Lorraine across the Rhone!When our Flocks of Eaglets fly–Dunder! Blitzen! Bill, Good-bye!Beaks of Steel and Claws of Lead–Sun eclipsed! The Geezer's dead.CHORUSO, you U Boats,That for U!We slipped thru you;How d'y' do?Hindenberg? Ach, let him rant!He won't stop us 'cause he can't!Zepps and Taubs are falling down;Butcher Bill will lose his crown;Watch your step, you Horrid Hun,You can't goosestep when you run!Hooray for the crimson, white and blue!'Rah for Old Glory! Chapeau bas vous!'Rah for the Tri-Color! We're at homeIn la belle France by the eau de Somme;Hooray for our Allies true and brave!We'll all sweep thru like a tidal waveOver the top in a mighty Drive–And never stop while the Hunds survive!

SIX DAYS

O, the comfort we feelWhen we finish a mealConsisting of rice cakes and whey;Because beyond questionThere's no indigestionAt the end of a Meatless day.When the "buck" dough doth riseFrom y'East to the skiesAnd hot griddled pancakes—oh, say!With sausages fryingThere's no use denyingYour welcome, O Wheatless day.When the house is afrostWithout fuel: its costIs more than we're able to pay:With our hearts all aglowWe can thaw ice or snowMaking light of a Heatless day.When there's discord with wifeThere's a shadow on lifeThat once was so sunny and gay;But billing and cooingSubordinate stewingAt the end of a Sweetless day!When will beefsteak and hamNot be sold by the gram?How long will these high prices stay?When the bad ProfiteersShow contrition and tearsAt the dawn of a Cheatless day.When our Soldiers in FranceDo their Indian danceAnd scalp all the Huns in the fray,The Kaiser will holler,With rope for a collar,At the end of his Ruthless day!

A PROTEST

While now 'tis meet to eat fish, eggs and maize,Vice meat and wheat whene'er we dine or sup,So be it! but this protest I would raise—In spite of warnings—veal keeps bobbing up!

A PRAYER

O Sun and Skies, that Hoover o'er our FieldsWhere Grains implanted lie, and Silos stand,—Pour out thy Warmth and Rains till Hunger yieldsThruout the World to our blest Fodderland!

SINCE THE LITTLE ONE CAME

I seem to have taken a new lease on lifeSince the little one came;I've lost the old grouch, and I say to my wife,Do you think I'm to blameBecause I have changed in my feelings towards youSince the Little One came?The furnace, 'tis true, gave me something to do,But I think it a shameThat some tiny tie like the Little One here(How is Snooks for a name?)Was not sooner left on our doorstep, my dear!The Store takes my time, but a very small part,—It's all over at four!I've cut Clancy's out and have made a new start;All my cronies are sore!But what do I care? I have mended my ways,So I rush from the StoreAnd hasten back home where the Little One playsOn the ruggèd hall floor,And pick him up quick (O, how pretty he looks!)Without shutting the door;So anxious I am to caress little Snooks.The chafing-dish chafes and the Joy-car is sore;We have given them up!The Two-step and Bridge are tabooed evermore;There is Joy in our Cup!We've cut out the movies and dining aboutFor our own modest sup;And billiards and golfing, I've cut them both out!As I did to the Hup.With playthings and drum (and a ruppy, tup, tup!)Loaded up like a Krupp,I beat it to Snooky,—our English Bull Pup.

RUN ALONG, LITTLE GIRL!

Run along, Little Girl! for it's bed-time now:Your Dollies are sleepy and poor old Bow-wowIs weary and lonesome, curled up in a heap—'Twould take little rocking to put him to sleep!Your Teddy Bear's growling: or is it a snore?Perhaps he objects to his bed on the floor?So pick up your treasures and when prayers are said—Run along, Little Girl, and climb in to bed!Run along, Little Girl! The Sandman is here;You've crowded too much into one day, I fear!Poor, little, tired Girlie, you've worked at your playTill the bloom of your cheeks has faded away.To-morrow, again, you can sit by the fireAnd dress all your Dollies in gala attire.Say, Good Night! to your thimble, needle and seams;Run along, Little Girl, and sweet be your dreams!Run along, Little Girl, and cover up tight!There's nothing to harm you, no spooks in the nightNor Bogeymen glaring when you are awake;For they're bad little girls that Bogeymen take.

A RETROSPECT

Picture a Home with love aglow and laughterReverberating from each joist and rafter;A sweet-faced Mother kissing you "Good Night"!With "Go to sleep! lest Santa Claus take frightAnd dashes by—leaving no books or toysFor naughty, wide-eyed, little girls and boys."Then see her tip-toe down the stairs, and trimThe tree—a toy on ev'ry outstretched limb;The rocking-horse and wagon at the base,And candy-stockings in the big fireplace:For thus we retrospect to show, no otherWould scheme and work and "fabricate" like MotherTo make our Christmas Day a grand fruition,And keep the secret of its sweet tradition.

THE EAGLE SCREAMS

We have arrived! America is First!Here Freedom cradled; here its pæan burstUpon the ears of nations, near and farTill Light of Freedom is the Guiding StarThruout the world; though Thraldom still obscuresThe Guiding Star where Tyranny endures.'Twas ever thus till Boston's "Reb" arrayUpset King George's teapot in the Bay,And Pegasus, whom we Revere, astrideHis high-bred hobby, warned the countryside.Before that time the Briton played the gameOf pour la tea or Golf (its proper name).With confidence and brassie nerve, methinks,Until they struck a Bunker on our linksThat thwarted all their prowess—'pon my soul!And left them groggy at the nineteenth hole.But still they puttered 'round and drank our rumTill Washington's avenging time had come;When, with his army, steeled at Valley Forge,He, George the First, uncrowned the other George,And all the "red-breasts," from our eyries shooedWhere now the Bird of Freedom guards his brood.

THE SERVICE STAR

The stars are agleam in their azurine field,Diffusing effulgence afar;But magnitude, lustre and fixedness yieldTo the glorious Service Star.In aureate setting, a pendant aglare,Is the radiant Service Star;That blazes with fire like a rare solitaire,A gift to the Valkyr of War.Protect thou our treasure, O, Valkyr! RestoreOur Jewel so priceless! and barFrom Valhalla's Dungeons, where Death's torrents pour,Our sanctified Service Star!

SOME DAY

Some day when the war is endedAnd we sail from France away,With sorrow and longings blended,Back home to America;And we live once more in BlightyA thousand years in a day,In the Land of God AlmightyWhere the Old Folks watch and pray:Some day, when we hit the pillowAgain on a box-spring bed,As snug as an armadilloWith his shell-protected head;When bugles refrain from tooting,And noises of battle stop;When victory ends recruiting,Or charging Over the Top:Some day! when we're thru with fightingAnd the beaten Hun retreats;When the Cooties cease from bitingAnd we sleep between the sheets!

THE CRUISE OF THE SEA SERPENT

And now behold the Merchant Submarine!Only its peeking periscope is seen,But what a cyclorama it revealsTo those below! Thru surging seas it stealsAnd vies with dolphins, porpoises and sharksTo keep apace with brigantines and barks;And, tho itself unseen, it's proud to showTo what low depths a submarine can go.The Cyclops sees as well by night as day;Its father, Neptune, gives it right of way:Amphibious, it rides the Ocean's crest,Or in its sunken Gardens takes its rest.This new-type boat we designate as ItBecause no other pronoun seems to fit.No water-laden craft could be a He,Nor one unspoken could be rated She.The Germans call it unter: O. U. Cargo!They aim to close the bar on the embargo.Beneath the waves no lurching doth it feelBut speeds its course upon an even keel.With duplex engines and a double crew,(It's "manned" by mermaids when it's hid from view).It scoffs at dangers, tho they lurk around,And shuts its eye to perils that abound.There's scant spare space, but still its ribs enfoldA priceless cargo in its shallow hold.Past hostile ships into a neutral haven,It comes up smiling with all flags a wavin'.But now these "Cargo Craft" throw off disguiseAnd cut our neutral throats: it's no surpriseThat dastards, who as "scraps of paper" rateTheir solemn Treaties, would thus lie in waitAnd murder innocents without emotion,Making a shambles of the outraged Ocean.Now lashed to fury, see the waves rebelAnd sweep these Prussian Pirates down to Hell!No longer neutral the Avenging SwordIs in our hands to smite the Hun-hound horde.The God of Joshua, in righteous wrathWill, in its flight thru empyrean path,Command the Sun to stop: it is His will!Till Kultur be effaced—and not until.

AMERICA

America, Crusader in the CauseOf Liberty, before thy shrine we pauseAnd offer grateful prayer that thou art RightIn making demonstration of thy Might.Without a thought of Conquest doth thou drawThine honored sword for Liberty and Law,That Nations of a common tongue, tho weak,May gain the Peace with Freedom that they seek;And occupy again, when battles cease,Their places in the Firmament of Peace.Fight on! Defender of the Cause! till TruthShall banish Tyranny and Wars forsooth,And throttle Kultur and its godless School,Till Teutons, purged, obey the Golden Rule!

LIFE AND LOVE

Life is the Echo of the Buried Past;A Soul reclaimed, an Atom born anew:Its fire burns on, tho flickering at the last,And finds its grand fulfillment, Love, in you.

LIFE IN DEATH

Why should we dread the Messenger of Death?Who comes as friend when sufferings beset,And gives surcease of pain with final breathSo that Life leaves, rejoiced, without regret.

GERMANY

O, Hun, from what low beast didst thou descend?That thou shouldst have the lust to kill and rend;The bestial passion to enjoy the groansOf suffering victims, while you crunch their bonesOr gouge their eyes, that mutely plead in vainFor quick oblivion and ease from pain?Of ponderous cast and savage mien, what teat,With Hatred filled and Passion's fiery heat,Reared thee more wolf than man? ill-bred,—a curseTo thine own kind, and to the Universe!

ITALY

Italians, hold! Rienzi pleads againAgainst the Tyrants: hold if ye be men!Let not the foe despoil your fertile landsOr wrest historic treasures from your hands!Guard well your daughters! Shield your budding sons!Lest they be maimed or murdered by the Huns.Soldiers of Italy, would ye be slavesTo Teuton hordes? Behold the sacred gravesOf Garibaldi and your martyred deadWho made ye Freemen! Wouldst be slaves instead?The Alpine Passes that were yours are lost;Your Northern Rivers have been reached and crossed;Hold, Romans, hold! Halt further Teuton gains,And drive their looting legions from your plains!Hold! Men of Italy! Your wall of steelCan save fair Venice from the Despot's heel:Hold! Every man! for Honor, Country, Home—And for the Glory of Eternal Rome!

MARY IS MERRY NO MORE

The Lamb that accompanied MaryWithout aid of cudgel or rope,Was raised by her sire Elder Berry,And washed with dioxygen soap.Its fleece, like the linen-spread table,Was snow-white: the lambkin was prizedAnd kept from the sheep in the stableWho never were deodorized.The lamb had a yearning for knowledge,And schoolward would follow the lassTill she was admitted to college,A graduate out of his class.Then sheep-eyes were made by the teacher,And Mary was quick to decide'Twixt him and the poor, woolly creatureWho made lambentations and died.She married her Teacher,—a lesson!Dyspeptic and old, he's a fright!Her thoughts fail of fitting expression,So she lams her own kids just for spite.She looks at her spouse with deep loathing,And sighs for her dead quadruped,And wishes the "wolf in sheep's clothing"—Her husband, were dead in his stead.Alas, lass! You've forded the ferry;Your tombstone was graven for two;The lamb, chiseled there, stands for Mary,And the Old English Mary for yew.The lamb reached the end of his tetherWhen Mary ascended on High,But surely, in spite of the wether,They'll meet in the Sweet Bye-and-Bye.

I SHOT AN ARROW

I shot an arrow: how it sang!It was a poisoned arrow!And when it turned, a boomerang,It chilled me to the marrow.I know not where the arrow struck,And care but little whetherIt came straight back or ran amuckUpon the near-by heather.But this I know; however fastThe arrow homeward scurried,My getaway was unsurpassed—For, Goodness, how I hurried!

FIXING THE BLAME

The almost-King of Verdun, still uncrowned,Wearied of driving, walked the ramparts 'roundTo see his father, Mr. William Kaiser,Who was to him an Oracle and wiser."O Sire! Inform me! Tell your first-born son,Who caused the War, and why it was begun?Who slipped the leash, and what was the excuseFor turning Europe's rabid War Dogs loose?Did you? Or was it Cousin George, or NickWho stacked the cards and played the dirty trick?Or was it Joe, or Ferdinand, or GreyWho sawed the bridge and pulled the props away?""My Son, I swear by all the periscopesAnd Zeppelins to which I pin my hopes;By all the Ocean Sharks and Bats a-sky,By Gott-in-Himmel! As I hope to die,I'm not to blame! I didn't use the spurs,Or try to overwork Geographers!I fought for Peace, and ne'er defiance hurled,Altho' the Fatherland should rule the world.But here's the truth: a secret I'll disclose!A stranger 'twas who made us come to blows!It happened thus: a mighty Nimrod cameFrom Afric wilds, where he had played the gameUntil his cudgel bore a hundred nicks,(A record this for all Prodigious Sticks)To Germany. No pussyfoot was his,But there was courage in his Nobel phiz;And in his stride were energy and graceEnough to make the goose-step commonplace.I took him to my Palace, as my guest,And poured libations from the cellar's best,(He was a certified non-drinker—See?So just accord this proper secrecy!)And then arranged to hold a Grand ReviewOf all my Armies and Reservists too.'De-lighted!' said my guest, and nothing more,As we reviewed my legions corps by corps;But this blunt comment signified his zeal,And so I mobilized my fleet at Kiel;And on my Royal Yacht, my guest and IWatched the maneuvres as my ships passed by.'De-lighted, Bill!' the Hardy Hunter shouted—'With such a fleet I'd have the whole world routed;And with your armies I would soon disperseThe Fighting Units of the Universe!'Such praise was pleasing to my ears, althoMy Wasps and Devil-fish I didn't show:I deemed it best to meld this 'hundred aces'When all my ships and men were in their places.Had he seen these, I knew he would adviseThe conquest of the Earth and Seas and Skies:But, Shades of Bismarck! that, you understandMight prove a strain upon the Fatherland.And so I kept the Peace, but thought aboutThe many martial plans we figured out;And how the cost of my Frontier DefencesCompared with his proposed campaign expenses.You see, Mein Heir, this man was full of guileAnd caused the War: this Bey of Oyster Isle.He hypnotized me: put it in my mindTo be the Potentate of all Mankind!So blame me not! The fault I must disown,And put the guilt on Theodore alone!Whatever comes anon, I'm not whipped yet!And with it all, I have but one regret—That he was not impressed to lead my driveTo Petersburg to take the Czar alive;And then, a Marshal, ordered to PareeTo capture it and bring it back to me;Then take my fleet, the English Channel overAnd put King George to rout and bombard Dover;And then supplant the Sultan, take his FezAnd lead my peerless Forces to Suez.While you have failed, and Hindenburg and Mack,He never fizzles when he makes attack.See what I've missed! for, see what he has done!And yet his vast campaign is just begun.He leads his Legions, Bull Moose, Calf and CowTo capture a Convention even now."An orderly approached the Royal PairJust at this stage and left despatches there.He stood at close attention, hand to head,While this absorbing cablegram was read—"Outflanked and captured; resignation tendered;Mooses dehorned and all the herd surrendered!Am looking for another job already,—Would take the German Presidency—Teddy."The Kaiser turned, looked at the Prince and wept,While noxious gases o'er the bulwarks crept.

LOVE'S RECOMPENSE

"Do you really, truly love me, with a love that mocks at Fate?"Cried the rustic, buxom maiden to her lover at the gate;"Yes, my Pet! And when Dame Fortune smiles upon us we will wed;I will strew your path with roses: Bear me witness, Gods o'erhead!"Thus he spake unto his sweetheart, under Heaven's starry blue,And the angels, smiling on him, heard his vow to "e'er be true."Then he placed his arms around her—kissed her: they were in a trance!And two soles toward Heav'n were lifted as the bulldog grabbed his pants.

ADAM'S ALE

Come, Comrades, gather 'round the festal boardAnd quaff the sparkling Water from the gourd!This is the drink that Adam's Tribe imbibedBefore the Wines of Gath were diatribed.(Methinks some other brand was drunk by CainThe day that Abel ruthlessly was slain.)And won, against all other potions there,The First White Ribbon at the Gaza Fair.You'll never know, until you take a sipIts power to soothe, and cool the fevered lip.Had Noah stuck to water he would shineAs undisputed Master of the Brine.The Water-wagon that he launched, at firstSteered Noah straight but didn't cure his thirst:So when he spoke the Ararat CaféHe soon fell off,—his rudder washed away.But wallward turn the picture you're beholdingAnd hang more cheerful paintings on the moulding!Behold a watercolor of eclat!This, fair Rebecca had the skill to draw:She stands beside the well and plies the sweep,While sweat and blushes o'er her features creep.Such grace and poise, such strength and skill,Such sweeping gestures and unbending willAre indices of Abstinence complete;(We can't abstain from loving you, Petite!)Upon her head she rests the dripping urnAnd goes straight home: she doesn't dare to turn!Don't stumble, Miss! Or suffer teasing boysTo cause derangement of your equipoise!But keep your head and waver not at allLest you be deluged by the waterfall!So daily to the pool Rebecca strayedAnd drank the water, when she didn't wade:And thus her framework waxed like iron; I trust'Twas ne'er assailed or undermined by rust.So, fill the gourd and pass it to your friend!It's Safety First and safety to the end.No headaches lurk within, no tinge of sorrow,No dark forebodings or remorse to-morrow!And furthermore, it isn't hard to take:If you've not tried it, do, for Mercy's sake!Behold the Oaken Bucket, hanging high,By Bards and Singers lauded to the sky.It never touched, in all its useful days,A thing but water. Here fair Psyche playsBeside the spring that mirrors all her graces.(Would you object to water in such cases?)Now mark the fate befalling Jack and JillBecause they slipped and let the water spill;And see poor Tantalus for water crying,Thus punished for his sins,—athirst and dying!And note this "Titian," called "The Drunkard's Fate,"In which the crimson hues predominate.He holds the lamp-post in his close embraceAnd has a package from Pat Murphy's placeTo carry home. His eyes are red and dim,So close the bar and turn the hose on him!This drink was ever priceless, yet it's free;The Source and Fountain of Sobriety;And so we offer without bar or priceEnough of THIS to put your thirst on ice.So drink to WATER, while the billows swell:The World wants Prohibition—and all's WELL!