The game is almost over now,
We couldn't win it anyhow."
The same old slacker still is he,
With men at war on land and sea,
And our lads plunging in it;
He spreads afar his old excuse.
"I'd like to help, but what's the use,
The Allied troops will win it.
There's nothing now to make us fret, there,
They'll have it won before we get there."
The worst of slackers is the man
Who will not help whene'er he can,
But plays the idle rover,
And tells to all beset with doubt
There's naught to be alarmed about,
The storm will soon be over.
Let no such dangerous person lead us,
To-day in France they sadly need us.
A Christmas Greeting
Here's to you, little mother,
With your boy so far away;
May the joy of service smother
All your grief this Christmas day;
May the magic of his splendor
Thrill your spirit through and through
And may all that's fine and tender
Make a smiling day for you.
May you never know the sadness
That from day to day you dread;
May you never find but gladness
In the Flag that's overhead;
May the good God watch above him
As he stands to duty stern,
And at last to all who love him
May he have a safe return.
Little mother, take the blessing
Of a grateful nation's heart;
May the news that is distressing
Never cause your tears to start;
May there be no fears to haunt you,
And no lonely hours and sad;
May your trials never daunt you,
But may every day be glad.
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