THE NEW ARMY
Who are those soldiers
Who go marching down?
They’re the young fellows
Of your old home town.
The butcher’s son, the baker’s,
His Honor’s lad, too;
The old casual mixture
Of Gentile and Jew.
Don’t they march manly!
Ay, they step light;
And soon by the papers
Ye’ll see they can fight!
R. R. Kirk, S.S.U.