The German against that hope forlorn
Broke his drive like a crumpled horn.
Their right was weakened, their left was thin,
Their centre was almost driven in,
When the tide of battle turned with a rush,
For France was—there and Ferdinand Foch.
Not since Garibaldi's stroke
Freed his land from the Austrian yoke,
And Italy after a thousand years
Walked in beauty among her peers,—
Not since Nelson followed the star
Of Freedom to triumph at Trafalgar
On the tossing floor of the Western seas,—
No, not since Miltiades
Fronted the Persian hosts and won
Against the tyrant at Marathon,
Has a greater defender of liberty
Stood and struck for the cause than he,—
Whose right was weakened,
whose left was thin,
Whose centre was almost driven in,
But whose iron courage no fate could crush
Nor hinder. 'I shall advance,' said Foch.
We who are left to carry the fray For civilization on today,
The war of the angels for goodly right
Against the devil of brutish might,—
The war for manhood, mercy, and love,
And peace with honour all price above,—
What shall we answer, how prepare,
For Destiny's challenge, Who goes there?
And pass with the willing and worthy to give
Life, that freedom and faith may live?
When promise and patience are wearing thin,
When endurance is almost driven in,
When our angels stand in a waiting hush,
Remember the Marne and Ferdinand Foch!
45
