Part 2

LIFE IS BUT ONE DARN THING AFTER ANOTHER.

I

Whether in childhood or when you grow older, Whether in summer or when it grows colder, Whether in sunshine or lightning and thunder, Be it on land or sea over or under, Whether winter frosts freeze you or summer heat smother, This you will find until life’s cord will sunder, Life is but one darn thing after another.

II

Whether you cry from grief or smile with laughter, Think of the present or past or hereafter, Whether you’re rooming or whether house-keeping, Sewing or darning or dusting or sweeping, Dreaming of yours or some other girl’s brother, This you will find whether waking or sleeping, Life is but one darn thing after another.

III

If you have peace of mind or if you worry, If things move slowly or if in a hurry, If you make hasty steps or if you tarry, If you stay single or if you marry, Whether you barren be, whether a mother, This you will find whate’er hap or miscarry, Life is but one darn thing after another.

COURCELLETTE.

Early on an autumn morning, Facing famous Courcellette, Lay the Twenty-fifth battalion, In the trenches damp and wet; Far away from home and kindred, Near the far-famed river Somme, Here and there a man lay dying, Stricken by a shell or bomb.

Men of every trade and calling, Of each company formed a part, Downy youth and bearded manhood From the farm and from the mart, Miners, farmers, sailors, tradesmen, From each hamlet, town and glen, Born of Nova Scotian mothers From the breed of manly men.

All alert and ever watching, On the guard both day and night, Each one ever his part doing, In the struggle for the right; Thinking always of the homeland Far away in Acadie, Of a mother, wife, or sister Whom they never more might see.

On the high hills overlooking, All the country down below, In their deep concreted dugouts, Lay the ever watchful foe; With artillery commanding All the hills for miles around, Through which, like a thread of silver, River Somme its free way wound.

There were Saxons and Bavarians In the Hun’s embattled host, And the fierce and bloody Uhlans Whom the Kaiser loves to toast; Where they stood in close formation Like a solid human block Fronted by the famous fighters Called the troops of battle shock.

When upon the morn in question, Just about the break of day, Word the Twenty-fifth was given To make ready for the fray; And they sprang up from their trenches Like the wild lynx with a bound, And they rushed without a falter Right across the barrage ground;

And they fell upon the Germans Like an avalanche of hail, And the Teutons bent before them Like the grain before the gale. And with irresisting fury They assailed the faltering Hun, And before the day was over Famous Courcellette was won.

Then let mothers tell their babies Whom they nurse upon their breasts, And the teachers tell the children In our schools from east to west, How at Courcellette’s fierce battle, An undying name was made By the Twenty-fifth battalion Of the fighting fifth brigade.

VIMY RIDGE.

For days the cannon roaring With loud incessant peal, The terrane and the trenches Had torn with lead and steel; Which told the boys in khaki Of fighting near at hand, And eagerly all waited The long wished for command.

Within the first line trenches, The highland laddies lay, Their thoughts were of their mothers Or sweethearts far away; Each one of them was thinking Of home and native sod, And like a Christian soldier Had made his peace with God.

The morn broke dark and stormy With hail and snow and sleet, Which made for many soldiers Ere night, their winding sheet; The shrapnel bits were flying, Like swarms of summer midge, When Borden’s highland laddies Charged up the Vimy Ridge.

On the top of this famed mountain, Nearby the city Lens, The enemy in dugouts Lay like lions in their dens; The mountain strong by nature, The Germans stronger made With cannon and with mortar, On concrete bases laid.

And thousands of machine guns, In their allotted place, And thousands of their snipers, With rifle and with brace; And lines of barbed wire fencing Of every strength and size, And aught else which their science Or cunning could devise.

Their seeming sense of safety, The Teutons did elate, And all were glibly chanting The Kaiser’s hymn of hate, When, lo! the pibroch’s skirling Their first line did astound And Donald, Rod and Angus Came on them with a bound.

And ere they had recovered From their astonishment The foremost of their gleemen To sing elsewhere were sent; And midst the cry of Kam’rade In broken English spoke, Both Prussian and Bavarian Went down from bayonet stroke.

And furious was the struggle, ’Twixt Highlander and Hun, For hand to hand the fighting On Vimy Ridge was done. The shock troops of the Kaiser, And all his proud array, Fled fast before the Bluenose On that eventful day.

And when the war is over, And peace again is come, We’ll give our gallant laddies A highland welcome home; With flags and banners waving, With singing and with cheer, We’ll celebrate the glory Of Vimy day each year.

GOD SAVE OUR EMPIRE GREAT.

God save our empire great, And to her board of state, Wise Counsel bring; May we in union free, Mother and daughters be, Ever one family: God save the king. Grant that there will arise, Beneath Canadian skies, Freedom’s offspring; May we be always free, From hate and bigotry, Co-heirs of liberty: God save the king.

THE VETERAN

A veteran too was there with shoulders broad As is the marsh in Amherst’s neighborhood; Of stature high and of a kingly stride, And in his face there shone a noble pride. His eyes bespoke a soul to never yield In fair fought fight at home or battle field. A civic man before the war began And since its end again a civic man. Beloved by all his comrades, young and old, For wise decisions and for action bold; His head was cool but kindly was his heart, In every act of war he did his part-- In digging in to use the lowly spade, In battle field to wield the bloody blade, In trench, in rest, to eat the soldiers’ fare, A man of manly breed, his wounds to bear. Three years he served where colored poppies grow Between the wooden “crosses, row on row,” Observing all, so well could tell a tale of Bourlon Wood or bloody Pachendaele.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

An Elegy Writtne in Richmond=> An Elegy Written in Richmond

Burnihing in colors=> Burnishing in colors

now ’Im old=> now I’m old

The Tuetons did elate=> The Teutons did elate

Of lovliness divine=> Of loveliness divine

perfect ecastasy=> perfect ecstasy

A sweet momoriam for aye=> A sweet memoriam for aye