The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1919-06-14
Every One of You Won the War"
BY EDITH WHARTON

Every one of you won the war
You and you and yOu-
Each one knowing what it was for
And what was his job to do.
Every one of you won the war,
Obedient, unwearied unknown;
Dung in the trenches, drift on the shore,
Dust to the worlds end blown;
Every one of you, steady and true,
You and you and you-
Down in the pit up in the blue,
Whether you crawed or sailed or flew,
Whether your closest comrade knew,
Or you bore the brunt alone
All of you, all of you, name after name,
Jones and Robinson, Smith and Brown,
You from the piping prairie town,
You from the Fundy fogs that came,
You from the ctys roaring blocks,
You from the bleak New England rocks,
With the shingled roof in the apple boughs
You from the brown adobe house,
You from the Rockies you from the coast '
You from the burning frontier post
And you from the Klondike's frozen flanks;
You from the cedar swamps, you from the pine,
You from the cotton and you from the vine,
You from the rice and the sugar brakes,
You from the rivers and you from the lakes
You from the creeks and you from the icks
And you from the brown bayou
You and you and you-
You from the pulpit you from the mine,
You from the factories, you from the banks,
Close and closer ranks on ranks,
Alrplanes and cannon, and rifles and tanks,
Smith and Robinson, Brown and Jones,
Ruddy faces bleaching bones
After the turmoil and blood and pain,
Swinging home to the folks again
Or sleeping alone in the fine French rain
Every one OF you won the war;
Every one of you won the war
You and you and you-
Pressing and pouring forth, more and more
rolling and stranng from shore to shore
10 reach the flaming edge of the dark,
Where man in his millions went up like a spark
You, in your thousands and millions coming,
All the sea plowed with you, all the air humming,
All the land loud with you,
All our hearts proud with you,
All our souls bowed with the awe of your cominpi
Where's the Arch high enough,
Lads, to receive you, a.,
Where's the eye dry enough, ~"
Dears, to perceive you,
When at last and at last in your glory you come
Trampng home?
Every one of you won the war
You and you and you-
You that carry an unscathed head,
You that halt with broken tread,
And on, most of all, you Dead, you Dead! -.
Lift up the Gates for those that are last,
That are last in the great Procession.
Let the living pour in, take possession,
Flood back to the city, the ranch, the farm.
The church, and the college and mill;
Back to the Office the store, the exchange;
Back to the wife with the babe on her arm;
Back to the mother that waits on the SILL
And the supper that's hot on the range.
:.
And now, when the last of them all are BY. ~g
Be the Gates lifted up on high
10 let those Others in,
Those Others, their brothers, that softly tread:
mat come so thick, yet take no ground:
nat are so many, yet make no sound:
Our Dead, our Dead our Dead!
H&%
o silent and secretly moving throng, 81
IN your fifty thousand strong,
Coming at dusk when the wreaths have dropt.
And streets are empty and music stopt;
Silently coming to hearts that wait
Dumb in the door and dumb at the gate,
And hear your step and fly to your call
Every one of you the war,
But you, you Dead, most of ALI