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A BALLAD OF REDHEAD'S DAY
by Glaenzer, Richard Butler [ - ]

Talk of the Greeks at Thermopylæ!
They fought like mad till the last was dead;
But Alvin C. York, of Tennessee,
Stayed cool to the end though his hair was red,
Stayed mountain cool, yet blazed that gray
October the Eighth as Redhead's Day.
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With rifle and pistol and redhead nerve
He captured one hundred and thirty-two;
A battalion against him, he did not swerve
From the Titans' task they were sent to do—
Fourteen men under Sergeant Early
And York, the blacksmith, big and burly.
Sixteen only, but fighters all,
They dared the brood of a devil's nest,
And three of those that did not fall
Were wounded and out of the scrap; the rest
Were guarding a bunch of Boche they'd caught,
When both were trapped by a fresh onslaught.
Excepting York, who smiled "Amen,"
And, spotting the nests of spitting guns,
Potted some twenty birds, and then
Did with his pistol for eight more Huns
Who thought they could crush a Yankee alive
In each red pound of two hundred and five.
That was enough for kill-babe Fritz:
Ninety in all threw up their hands,
Suddenly tender as lamb at the Ritz,
Milder than sheep to a York's commands;
And back to his line he drove the herd,
Gathering more on the way—Absurd!
Absurd, but true—ay, gospel fact;
For here was a man with a level head,
Who, scorning to fail for the help he lacked,
Helped himself till he won instead;
An elder was he in the Church of Christ,
Immortal at thirty; his faith sufficed.
Richard Butler Glaenzer.

Source: Project Gutenberg

Source: Project Gutenberg