THE YOUNG BLOOD SPEAKS
Bon jour, Marcel! Your hand.
At last our stars
Have come to join your triple bars;
We're here to fight with France—
By God, give us the chance!—
We heard the cries
Of helpless children; saw the frightened eyes
Of women shrinking from the maddened crew
That swept their land; we felt
The quiver of the tortured sod, and smelt
The smoke of burning villages; we knew
You needed us, that's what we're coming for—
To stop this war.
Dis donc, Emile! We couldn't stand their cant:
"God and the Fatherland." And trampling
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