Addressed to “little-navy” Congressmen.
_Fools there lived when the Nations sprang newborn from
the arms of God--_
_Fools there’ll live when the Nations melt in the mold of
the markless sod._
_Fools there are and fools there were and fools there’ll ever be--_
_But none like the fools whom the ages teach, and then refuse to see._
With Other Peoples building them in squadrons--
The Other Peoples laden down with debt--
In the richest of the Nations you’ll cut appropriations,
But the Day of Reckoning--have ye counted yet?
Oh be careful, Oh be meager, Oh My Brothers;
Weigh the cost, and gasp, and pare it down again;
Till the twelve-inch children roar and the troop-ships grate the shore
And you hear the coming tread of marching men.
Then My Brothers, Oh my wise far-seeing Brothers,
Build a Fleet and build it swiftly overnight;
Ah truly ye who knew it all these years can surely do it,
For ye and only ye alone are right.
Go gaze across your growing, waving acres--
Go gaze adown the peaceful, busy street;
May the prestige of your town be your all-in-all renown,
And scorn the men who bid you, “_BUILD THE FLEET_.”
Or whine about your irrigation ditches--
Much they’ll help a scarred and battle-riven land.
Oh they’ll do a monstrous earning when the crops they grow are burning--
Because you would not hear the clear command.
With the jealous nations standing to the east-ward--
And the Sneaking Cur that watches on the west--
You’ll bargain, skimp and whine till the gray hulls lift the line,
And your children stand betrayèd and confessed.
For the sake of saving five or fifty millions--
For the sake of “politics” or local greed--
Will you brand yourselves arch traitors to the Nation--
You, the sons of men who served us in our need?
Will you risk a land your Sires died to bring you--
A land our faithful Fathers fell to save,
By the bleaching bones of Valley Forge and Monmouth
Or the crimson flood the Bloody Angle gave?
Will you see one half the Nation raped and burning--
Will you learn War’s callous, lurid, livid wrath
By the wailing ’long the wayside, by the ashes of the cities,
Ere your gathered army flings across their path?
You may strut and boast our boundless might and power--
You may call our race the Chosen of the Lord--
But if _your_ town they raze--and if _your_ home’s ablaze
You will wake and learn the Kingdom of the Sword.
You will wake and learn the word your Fathers taught you--
You will wake and learn the truth--but all too late:
By the shrieking shrapnel’s crying--by the homeless, wronged and dying--
You shall count what, you begrudged to Guard the Gate.