CHIN UP

It will be all right in a thousand years — you wo n't be bankrupt then.

This is n't the time of stocks and shares, it's just the age of men.

The one that sticks it out will win — so do n't lie down and bawl,

But thank your God you've helped to win the noblest War of all.

Away to the East in Flanders’ mud, through Dante's dream of Hell,

The troops are working hard for peace with bayonet, bomb, and shell,

With poison gas and roaring guns beneath a smoking pall;

Yes — thank your God your kin are there — the finest troops of all.

You may be stripped of all you have — it may be all you say,

But you'll have your life and eyesight left, so stow your talk of pay.

You wo n't be dead in a bed of lime with those that heard the Call;

So thank your God you've an easy job in the Greatest War of all.

It is n't the money that's going to count when the Flanders’ men return,

And a shake of your hand from Flanders’ men is a thing you've got to earn.

Just think how cold it's going to be in the Nation's Judgment Hall;

So damn your troubles and find your soul in the Greatest War of all!