Oh , to be in Paris now that Pershing 's there!
To hear the waves of welcome that greet him everywhere;
To see the children and the girls a-pelting him with flowers,
And feel that every petal is meant for us and ours;
To know the brave smile 's come again to worn and widowed France,
Whose banners—now, thank Heaven! with ours—are all that 's left to dance;
That war, that wakens hate in those who fight for love of war,
Has made a wider world of love than ever was before;
To see this love find moving voice in living epigram:
The Poilu and the Tommy and the Son of Uncle Sam,
In a comradeship of Paris streets, like modern Musketeers,
That, however near to laughter, is n't very far from tears;
To see our flag that stood for faith now stand at last for works,
And prove that, at the pinch of things, we have no place for shirks;
To hear the hymn we sang so long, secure in sentiment,
Played proudly to a land that learns how grimly it is meant.

Oh, 't is a thrill to die upon, to help repay the debt
We owe the gallant memory of the boyish, Lafayette,—
To know that we are brothers, in spite of race or tongue,
To make the round world safe for Man … O God, that I were young!