Works in the Bulletin 1915
THE HEART OF THE DOVE
If we were animated by the spirit of conquest no Power could stop us from taking the entire American continent, from
Greenland to Cape Horn; nor even prevent us from turning into American colonies the entire world outside of Europe. -
Quarterly International Trade Magazine, of Chicago.
Say, Bo, this little Yewropean war
It grieves our gloryus nation to the core -
The vurry core of its great, strang, red heart,
We're tur-ble sore:
A reel sawft heart.
Naw, son! we air not takin' any part.
We figgered that ahl out, right from the start.
The great american nation stan's aside:
She keeps apart -
We gat our pride.
But don't yew figger ahn no fancy paly
With Uncle Sam; he's ready for th efray.
An' wance that 'Murkan eagle's screech is heard
Watch out! An', say,
He is some eagle, yew kin take my word.
If wance that great, fierce heart of his was sturred -
Aw, shucks! that little Yewropean stunt
Would look ab-surd!
You'd see some hunt!
When wance that Bird o' Freedom hit the front
Why, Gee! them dinky ings would have to shunt!
Old Yewrope would be right clean off the map!
I put it blunt:
Put up a scrap.
Wance we cut loose - Aw, Hully Gee! the gap
In Yewrope's rank 'ud make tyhem howl for pap.
We'd wipe the airth out of the Kasmic Plan
An' on the map
The true Amur'kan, sir, he is a man
Who'd lick this un-i-verse, wance he began;
Say, it's a cinch; becaws we hold the dough
If we should plan
None could say so.
Them Kings and Kaisers all would have to go.
He'd do 'em up right praper! Get me, Bo?
He'd eat hull crate-loads of their wan-harse ships!
He'd smash the show,
Wance come to grips!
Aw, shucks! This great, strang nation, sir, it whips
Creation! Wance the word has pas'd our lips
We'd just reach out, an' take the hull darn world!
We'd get the ships
Things would get whirled!
Yep! Wance that starry banner was unfurled
We'd roast the Kaiser till his whiskers curled!
Say, do you get me? Wance we j'ined the fray
The hull darn world
Out of our way.
Wance we were roused - what matter, anyway?
We air nat takin' war in ours to-day
Naw, Bo; we got no quar'l, we play the part
Of pained dismay,
Our great, sawft, strang, red heart.
The Bulletin, 18 March 1915, p24