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Let go of that bridle,
D'you hear what I say?
I must get to market,
Don't argue all day.

"Old Glory's dishonored?

We back down on our word? Brave men may despise us,"

Is that what you've heard?

What's that about "pottage,
And selling our souls,
And birthright"?-and "brothers
At opposite poles"?

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Now the summer weaves their pall.

But we mourn, who may not share In the glory of their dying,

-Oh, how sorrowful!- How fair, - Pain is fled

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August, 1915

They, the Deathless!
Say not, dying,
Say not, dead.

"There was a little man

Who had a little


And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead."


HERE was a summer night,
When a Zeppelin in flight,
Sailed inland from the English coast,

coast, coast;

It came to maim and kill,

-That was the Kaiser's will

For later of its work he could boast, boast, boast.

Young women, children, men,

Were hurt and injured then,

And murdered by those cruel bombs, bombs, bombs;

But Zeppelins are made

For that purpose, and to raid
Over-seas in enemy kingdoms, doms,


Now there was the little man,
Who had the little gun,

And bullets that were made of lead,

lead, lead;

He bravely had a try

At that monster in the sky,

But he only shot a pigeon dead, dead, dead.

In Berlin much was told,

Of the little man so bold,

And the people all said, "What a sin, sin, sin!"

While a Chancellor, far-famed,

"It is treachery," exclaimed,

"To try to destroy a Zeppelin," lin, lin.

So, if you have a gun,

Don't shoot at any Hun,

Though you should be at war with

them, them, them;

"How very base,

They will say,
Or term it a disgrace,

And wickedness for you to resist them,


"How strange!" I hear you say; But they are made that way,

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