ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN

  I’ve eaten funny dishes on Luzon’s tropical shore,
  I’ve eaten Japan’s bamboo shoots and oysters by the score. 
  Of caviar I’ve had my share, I love anchovies, too,
  And way down in old Mindanao I’ve eaten carabao;
  Of Johnny Bull’s old rare roast I nearly got the gout,
  And with chums at Heidelberg I dined on sauerkraut;
  In China I have eaten native rice and sipped their famous teas;
  In Naples I, ’long with the rest, ate macaroni and cheese;
  In Cuba where all things go slow, manana’s their one wish;
  I dined on things that had no names, but tasted strong with fish. 
  In Mexico the chili burnt the coating off my tongue;
  And with Irish landlord I dined on pigs quite young,
  Yet you may have your dishes that is served to kings and queens,
  But I am happy and contented with a dish of Army Beans.

LITTLE THINGS

  Little drops of water,
    Little grains of sand
  Make the mighty ocean
    And the desert land.

  Little hours of drilling,
    Little “rifle shoots”
  Make efficient soldiers
    Out of raw recruits.

  Little hours some spend in
    Breaking liberty,
  Oft’ amount to something
    More than E. P. D.

  Little words of kindness,
    When you spare a few,
  Sound all right to some one;
    Do they not to you?

SING-A-SONG-A-SIXPENCE

  Sing-a-song-a-sixpence
    Every-body dry—­
  Half-a-dozen Privates
    Opening some rye.

  When the rye was opened
    The Bucks began to sing: 
  Every blessed one of them
    Feeling like a king.

  The Sergeant at the Guard-house
    Saw them walking straight—­
  Marked them “Clean and Sober,”
    When they passed the gate.

  But, when Taps was over,
    They sang and danced a jig,
  Along came a Corporal
    And slammed them in the Brig.

QUEEN OF MAY

  If you wake, why, call me early—­call me early, won’t you, bunk? 
  The captain says I’ll be a non-com., if I don’t get on a drunk. 
  Then some day I’ll be a sergeant with three stripes upon my arm,
  Zig zag, like the old rail fences on Dad Posey’s Country farm. 
  Call me early, though I’m dreaming, wake me up that I may see
  How the sun that sinks in grandeur rises in obscurity. 
  I’ve been a private, bunkie, such as privates seldom are,
  Borne my share of public censure, let it heal without a scar. 
  Till upon the fair escutcheon of my name and humble rank
  Captain says he’ll add the title and a stripe on either flank. 
  Then I’ll be a non-com., bunkie, wake me up that I may see
  My own glory bubble appearing, hear it burst at reveille. 
  Wake me early from my slumbers, henceforth