The Boy Patriot

I want to be a Soldier! -
    A Soldier! -
        A Soldier! -
I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand
Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,
Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band;
I want to hear, high overhead, The Old Flag flap her wings
While all the Army, following, in chorus cheers and sings;
I want to hear the tramp and jar
    Of patriots a million,
As gayly dancing off to war
    As dancing a cotillion.

I want to be a Soldier! -
    A Soldier! -
        A Soldier! -
I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand
Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,
Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band.

I want to see the battle! -
    The battle! -
        The battle! -
I want to see the battle, and be in it to the end; -
I want to hear the cannon clear their throats and catch the prattle
Of all the pretty compliments the enemy can send! -
And then I know my wits will go, - and where I should'nt be -
Well, there's the spot, in any fight, that you may search for me.
So, when our foes have had their fill,
    Though I'm among the dying,
To see The Old Flag flying still,
    I'll laugh to leave her flying!

I want to be a Soldier! -
    A Soldier! -
        A Soldier! -
I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand
Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,
Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band.

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

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Fame

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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The Silent Victors

MAY 30, 1878,

Dying for victory, cheer on cheer
Thundered on his eager ear.
            - CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN.

I

Deep, tender, firm and true, the Nation's heart
    Throbs for her gallant heroes passed away,
Who in grim Battle's drama played their part,
    And slumber here to-day. -

Warm hearts that beat their lives out at the shrine
    Of Freedom, while our country held its breath
As brave battalions wheeled themselves in line
    And marched upon their death:

When Freedom's Flag, its natal wounds scarce healed,
    Was torn from peaceful winds and flung again
To shudder in the storm of battle-field -
    The elements of men, -

When every star that glittered was a mark
    For Treason's ball, and every rippling ...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Song of the Soldier-born

    Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
    Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
    Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.

Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.

For I hold as a simple faith there's no denying:
The trade of a soldier's the only trade worth plying;
The death of a soldier's the only death worth dying.

So let me go and leave your safety behind me;
Go to the spaces of hazard where nothing shall bind me;
Go till the word is War - and then you will find me.

Then you will call me and claim me because you will need me;
Cheer me and gird me and into the battle-wrath speed me...

Robert William Service

The Old Man And Jim

Old man never had much to say -
    'Ceptin' to Jim, -
And Jim was the wildest boy he had -
    And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!
Never heerd him speak but once
Er twice in my life, - and first time was
When the army broke out, and Jim he went,
The old man backin' him, fer three months;
And all 'at I heerd the old man say
Was, jes' as we turned to start away, -
    "Well, good-by, Jim:
    Take keer o' yourse'f!"

'Peared-like, he was more satisfied
    Jes' lookin' at Jim
And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see? -
    'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him!
And over and over I mind the day
The old man come and stood round in the way
While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim -
And down at the deepo a-heerin' him say,
    "Well, ...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Sweet Little Man

Dedicated To The Stay-At-Home Rangers

Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles,
Each at his post to do all that he can,
Down among rebels and contraband chattels,
What are you doing, my sweet little man?

All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping,
All of them pressing to march with the van,
Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping;
What are you waiting for, sweet little man?

You with the terrible warlike mustaches,
Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan,
You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes,
Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?

Bring him the buttonless garment of woman!
Cover his face lest it freckle and tan;
Muster the Apron-String Guards on the Common,
That is the corps for the sweet lit...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Young British Soldier

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts,
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts,
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the sold...

Rudyard

My Army, O, My Army!

My Army, O, my army! The time I dreamed of comes!
I want to see your colours; I want to hear your drums!
I heard them in my boyhood when all mens hearts seemed cold;
I heard them as a Young Man, and I am growing old!
My army, O, my army! The signs are manifold!

My army, O, my army! My army and my Queen!
I used to sing your battle-songs when I was seventeen!
They came to me from ages, they came from far and near;
They came to me from Paris, they came to me from Here!,
They came when I was marching with the Army of the Rear.

My Queens dark eyes were flashing (oh, she was younger then!);
My Queens Red Cap was redder than the reddest blood of men!
My Queen marched like an Amazon, with anger manifest,
Her dark hair darkly matted from a knifegash in her breast
...

Henry Lawson