MY COMRADES IN THE RANKS.

You chose no easy Service,

No safe job, friends of mine,

But the mud of the shell-torn, trenches

And the foremost battle-line.

No camouflage patriotism —

Though you had from a wealth to choose

But the wicked work of No Man's Land,

Filling a man's-size shoes.

You did n't say you would n't play

If you got no shoulder bars —

You even placed your Country

Above a general's stars:

For shocking, very shocking,

You did n't give a damn

About your “social status,”

When you fought for Uncle Sam.

Friends of mine, friends of mine,

I've shared your toil and tears —

Your dangers and your little woes,

When days were turned to years.

I may not make them understand

The things that you have done,

But God bless you and God keep you —

Every blessed mother's son.