Judge, 1918-05-25 · page 3 of 36
Judge — May 25, 1918 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a World War I poem by Private Lawrence Minor Connolly from the 1st Ammunition Train, Camp Hancock, Augusta, Georgia. The illustration by Charles Sarka shows a young soldier standing resolute on a battlefield, silhouetted against clouds of smoke and explosions. The poem presents a new recruit's raw, honest prayer—mixing fear with determination. The soldier is exhausted from training (blistered feet, aching arms) but resolves to endure combat without complaint. The refrain "Just give me nerve and I won't ask more" captures the modest hope of an inexperienced soldier facing the unknown horrors of trench warfare. The piece validates soldiers' suffering while celebrating their stoic courage, appearing designed to boost morale or honor enlisted men's sacrifices during WWI.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Draven by Cuarces SARKA “JUST GIVE ME NERVE AND I WON’T ASK MORE” The Rookie’s Prayer By Private Lawrence Minor Connotiy Co. A, H, Lord, I creak like a rusty hinge, And my feet have gone to sleep. My nerves are like a tangled fringe; There’s a hole two inches deep Where the trigger-guard rubs collar-bone, And my brain goes in a reel. But I must’nt “cuss” and I will not groan; In spite of my blistered heel I made the hike, and I stood the test. It wasn’t just merely luck, For I wasn’t allowed to stop and rest; But I stuck, Oh Lord, I stuck! I took my turn at the shovel and pick, When the sun was broiling red. I didn’t stall or play off sick Tho I longed for a day in bed. But I squared my jaw till it ached again, And I swore that I would not quit. : I needed some rest so much just then; But I would not ask for it. In spite of the burning and blistered palms, That fall to the lot of the “Buck,” With the tired back and the aching arms, I stuck, Oh Lord, I stuck! 103d Ammunition Train, Camp Hancock, Augusta, Ga It won’t be long till ’m on my way To ship from a Jersey pier. I’m ready now. Lord, speed the day! Oh, when do we go from here? The transport’s path across the foam By the “U-boats” is beset, And I’ll be a long, long way from home, And the sea is awful wet! But bayonet thrust or can- non’s roar, Or saber, or bomb, or pick, Just give me nerve and I won’t ask more. God, give me the grit to stick! comicbooks.com