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Soldier Poet Write Poem

Sergeant George H. Bradley in charge of the U. S. A.
Recruiting office in Fremont is a soldier of 20 or more
years experience in his country's service. The popular
officer has followed the flag in many climes and over
many seas. He is a well read soldier as well as a much
travelled one and during a leisure hour several days ago
he composed the following to the point lines that will
be of great interest to the great many patriots who have
the same sense of feeling that is brought out in the
poem.

Let Him Live
By Sergeant George H. Bradley,
U. S. Army

As long as the flowers their perfume give
So long I'd let the kaiser live --
Live and live for a million years.
With nothing to drink but Belgian tears.
With nothing to quench his awful thirst
But the salted brice of a Scotchman's curse.

I would let him live on a dinner each day,
Served with silver on a golden tray --
Served with things both dainty and sweet --
Served with everything but things to eat.
And I'd make him a bed of silken sheen,
With costly linens to lie between.
With covers of down and lilies or lace,
And downy pillows piled in place;
Yet when to its comforts he would yield,
It would stink with rot of the battlefield.
And blood and bones and brains of men
Should cover him, smother him -- and then
His pillows should cling with the rotten cloy,
Clay from the grave of a soldier boy.
And while God's starts their vigil's keep,
And while the waves the white sands sweep,
He should never, never sleep.

And through all the dyas, and though all the years,
There should be an anthem in his ears, Singing and
singing and never done >From the edge of light to the
set of sun. Moaning and moaning and moaning wild -- A
ravaged French girl's bastard son.

And I would build him a castle by the sea,
As lovely a castle as ever could be;
Laden with water cold and sweet,
Laden with everything good to eat;
Yes scarce does she touch the silver sands.
Scarce might he reach his eager hands.
When a hot and hellish molten _____
Should change his heaven into _____
And though he'd watch on the wave swept shore,
Our Lusitania would rise no more.

In No Man's Land, where they Irish fell,
I'd start the Kaiser a private hell.
I'd jab him, stab him, give him gas;
In every wound I'd pour ground glass;
I'd march him out where the brave boy's died --
Our past the lads they crucified.
In the fearful gloom of his living tomb,
There is one thing I'd do before I was through.
I'd make him sing in a stirring manner,
The wonderful words of The Star Spangled Banner.


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