Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

tr. fa es ‘ . SONG OF THE NATIONS by CHARLES C. JONES a ae have said that war is a fearful thing And the mark of the savage strain, That we shall not live by the primitive; But the world, to the world’s good gain, Shall forget old scores in the clear, new dawn, In the dawn of a world-wide peace; That the day shall come when the guns are dumb, As the strife of the nations cease. They have said that life is a precious boon— Yea, lose life, lose all, is the cry! But it does not hold with the heart grown bold When a man in his strength shall die. It is not man’s stay when the ranks roar down, Or the ships sweep in from the sea, And the shells’ black breath, like the wings of death, Is afloat where the sun should be. Oh, it does not hold when the hot blood starts As a lash to a crouching fear, When the bugles play in the old, wild way, And the soul leaps up but to hear! There is no white peace in the soul of man When the smoke in his nostrils stings, And the old desire is a new-born fire, And the call of his honor rings. There are some things left in this world of ours That are born of an older day, And they shall not die while the free winds fly Or the warrior seas know spray. There are insults yet in the word or deed That are black as the smirch of mud, And they shall not yield from a nation’s shield Till it reeks with the cleanser—blood. They have said that war is a fearful thing, And lose life, lose all, is the cry; But so long as life in the vein runs rife Shall a man for his honor die. And so long as yellow and brown and white Are the men of the nations bred, They shall mix not long, who are both grown strong, Till they prove that their blood is red! 79 5} cCOmiclbookSs.C©