d the training camp to-day.
The Captain says with modern war we gotta all catch step;
"Cut out the rough-necked rage and talk, and don't you think or say:

"'Pirates, rapists, murderers; poisoners and lying thieves;
Super-vandals, run amuck--black devils quoting sermons;
This world was mostly Heaven-made, our Chaplain, he believes;
But Hell itself conceived and spawned the Military Germans!

"The enemy is good at killing kids, and old folks, too;
Torpedoing hospital ships and blowin' up our plants;
But cogitatin' on their line of wicked things won't do;
We'll never hate 'em off the map--just give the guns a chance!"

So we don't go in for loathin', and with anger we don't burn;
We're drillin', and we're diggin', and we're workin' all the while;
To put 'er in the target is the trick we hafter learn--
And ev'ry man's a better shot when he can shoot--and smile!

The folks at home will spend their time a-broodin' over all
The nasty devils do and on the details they can dwell;
It's up to us to learn this game, and then--when comes the call--
Pump lead into the enemy--and send him _back_ to hell.

HER JOHNNY

Since Johnny has joined the Marine corps,
Of course he will do what he's told,
And Johnny will be at home on the sea
The day he is eighteen years old.
Just what they expect of my baby
Ain't clear to his maw; my, oh, my!
But Johnny's a-wearin' the blue--and ain't carin'--
He's gone! Is it wrong if I cry?

It ain't been so long, I remember,
That Johnny, my baby, was sick
Whenever he'd get on a boat, and he'd fret
Till we'd land--which was usually quick.
But now, with his gun and his kit-bag,
He's answered the call, bless his heart!
And he'll square out his jaw and think of his maw
And go in to win from the start!

My Johnny's not fightin' for pleasure
(I know he'll be sea-sick, pore kid!)
But he said, "If I stayed, they'd call me afraid;
I gotta sign up"--and he did.
So now I sit here, sorter dreamin'
Of the days he was mine. They are done--
I'm proud; but I wish--I could fix up a dish
Of doughnuts for Johnny, my son!

THE FIRST FLEET

We slid into the harbor here,
A line of battle-cruisers gray,
With hungry guns as silent as
The bands aboard that did not play.
The fog was soft, the fog was damp,
The hush was thick and wide as space,
But ev'ry man was standing at
Attention in his given place.

We'd made the port, with time to spare--
And Uncl