THROUGH THE WHEAT
(The Sergeant’s Story)
“There’s a job out there before us,”
Said the Captain, kinder solemn;
“There’s a crop out there to gather
Through the wheat fields just ahead.”
Through the wheat of Château-Thierry
That was soon to hold our column,
“There’s a crop out there to gather,”
That was all the Captain said.
(Oh, at dawn the wheat was yellow,
But at night the wheat was red.)
“There’s a crop out there to gather,”
And we felt contentment stealin’
Like a ghost from out the shadows
Of a lost, old-fashioned street;
For the crop out there before us
Brought a kinder home-like feelin’,
Though the zippin’ German bullets
Started hissin’ through the wheat.
But it didn’t seem to bother
As we slogged along the beat.
“There’s snakes here,” whooped a private
As the bullets started hissin’;
And we saw that Hun machine guns
In the thicket formed our crop;
So we started for the harvest
Where a bunch of them was missin’,
But a bunch of them was hittin’
Where we hadn’t time to stop.
But we damned ’em to a finish
As we saw a bunkie drop.
So we gathered in the harvest,
And we didn’t leave one missin’;
(We had gathered crops before this
With as tough a job ahead.)
Through the wheat of Château-Thierry,
With the German bullets hissin’,
“There’s a crop out there to gather,”
That was all the Captain said.
(Oh, at dawn the wheat was yellow,
But at night the wheat was red.)