WWI American
Immigrant Poetry
AYE, with a yellow ribbon-band
And a cross of British tin
They think to mock the Iron Cross
That men dare all to win;
Nor heed the scorn of Nelson mute,
High in Trafalgar Square,
The man who never fought a foe
But what he fought him fair!
The tears and blood of sacrifice,
For them the Cross doth stand,
They tie it to the mangy curs
That run along the Strand;
The horses of the busmen show,
As through the streets they fare
The gift the Fatherland bestows
For deeds beyond compare.
Yet though the jeering rabble throng
The streets of London Town,
And flaunt their mock of tin for steel
Their fear they may not down;
And they’ll recall when Zeppelins
Rise o’er the Channel haze
The motto of the Iron Cross:
“God with us: His the praise!”