THERE IS a quiet gentleman a-motoring in France (Oh, don't you hear the honking of a British motor-car?) -- Like any quiet gentleman that you may meet by chance, Who doesn't wear a uniform, and doesn't sport a star. Another quiet gentleman is sitting by his side (Oh, do you hear the "shuffling feet" tonight in Gay Paree?) -- The honking of their motor-car, when they go for a ride, Is louder than the biggest gun that's made in Germany.
Another quiet gentleman, who's very like the first (Oh, don't you hear the tinkle of the sleigh-bells on the snow?) Is riding out in Russia now to watch the best and worst. Oh, hear the bells of Petrograd a-ringing soft and low-- The Christmas bells of Petrograd, that hail the birth of Christ; The sleigh-bells from the opera that hail the birth of Sin-- While eyes of men are dried in Hell and hearts of men are iced-- Are louder than the loudest blare that's blaring in Berlin.
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