Jessie Pope
HODGE waded through the weekly news,
"The Income Tax, he said,
"That's nowt to me, I shallunt lose,
'Twill hit the boss instead.
Lloyd George he be the man for I,
Us poor have nowt to fear."
He paused then gave a dismal cry :
" They're goin' to tax my beer"
Dr-rud dr-rud dr-rud dr-rud
Kitchener's Army on the march
Through Marylebone and Marble Arch,
Men in motley, so to speak,
Been in training about a week,
Swinging easy, toe and heel,
Game and gay, and keen as steel.
[The most noteworthy characteristic of a wet summer is the number of proposals made in the rain.]
Beneath an Ilfracombe machine,
While thunderstorms were raging,
Strephon and Chloe found the scene
Exceedingly engaging;
Though Mother Earth reproached the skies
With flinging pailfuls at her,
When Strephon looked in Chloe's eyes
Twenty-Two stalwarts in stripes and shorts
Kicking a ball along,
Set in a square of leather-lunged sports
Twenty-two thousand strong,
Some of them shabby, some of them spruce,
Savagely clamorous all,
Hurling endearments, advice or abuse,
At the muscular boys on the ball.
TIME was, not very long ago,
When Mabel's walking skirt
Trailed half a yard behind to show
How well she swept the dirt.
But "short and sweet" are in again ;
No more the grievance rankles,
For Mabel's now curtailed her train
And shows her dainty ankles.
The call came in the stormy night,
Beneath a stranger's sky.
The soldier of a life-long fight,
Still fighting, went to die.
His country's honour was his goal;
Patient, unswerving, brave,
His mind, his heart, his work, his soul
His very all, he gave.
In heaven, a pale uncertain star,
Through sullen vapour peeps,
On earth, extended wide and far,
In all the symmetry of war,
A weary army sleeps.
The heavy-hearted pall of night
Obliterates the lines,
Save where a dying camp-fire's light
HERE'S a prominent person
I must write a verse on
His ways are so strictly impartial,
His power is great,
His word carries weight
In matters domestic and martial.
He never takes sides,
But rough-shod he rides
The dying sunset's slanting rays
Incarnadine the soldier's deed,
His sturdy countenance betrays
The bull-dog breed.
Not his to shun the stubborn fight,
The struggle against cruel odds.
Alone, unaided 'tis a sight
For men and gods.
(The Frankfurter Zeitung states that Belgium intrigued with England and France to drag Germany into war.)
BIG bully Belgium,
Breathing blood and flame,
Crafty as a serpent
In a cunning game,
Sent a note to England,
Sent a note to France,
"Let us crush the Fatherland
When the housebreaking business is slack
And cracksmen are finding it slow
For all the sea-siders are back
And a great many more didn't go
Here's excellent news from the front
And joy in ;
Things are looking up since
The German Crown Prince
GOLIATH was a giant, the bully of his side,
His coat of mail was brazen, his face was
fierce with pride;
And when a shepherd stripling to challenge him was
fain,
Eleven-foot Goliath ignored him in disdain.
But David didn't trouble, his heart was cool and
glad,