Saturday, December 1, 2007

What of the men who strike!

Love for our tars who are manning our ships,
Who are waiting behind their guns,
The guns that are keeping in hiding meek
The fleet of the "frightful"Huns.

Love for the soldiers in Khaki brown,
in traverse and sap and trench.
braving the horrors of shot and shell
And weight of the "dead-man" stench.

pride for the workers who toil at the lathes,
The men at the bench and wheel,
Moulding the lash that will tame the foe
And summon the Hun "to heel."

For flyers and fighters, and women who toil
In the place of the men who fight,
our love and our pride to them every one
Who are welding an Empires might.

people who finance and people who save,
Ranks them whatever you liie,
Pride in them all who are doing their bit--
But ! What of the men who strike!

Who would barter the blood of a thousand braves
For a measure of time or gold,
Loosing our grip on the monster's throat
(It's this when the truth is told)

"Another place !" In a muddy tench,
An inferno of shot and shell,
When the power was held by a strikers act
The enemy guns to quell.

This is the place for the ones who slack,
Strikers and all of their clan,
They'll do their bit when it's steel on steel
And death for the weakest man.

What for them? Ask of the men "out there"
(This form them all and one)
A firing party, an open grave,
The traitor against the wall.

So for the ones who are selling our best
And helping the guns to spike;
A cry from the traverse and trench and decks,
"Short shrift for the men who strike"

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