THEN GIVE US WINGS
If wings will help our men to see
Some Boche's belching battery,
Unloosing from a screen of trees
Its screeching death upon the breeze—
Or help our giant guns to search
With truer aim each hidden perch
Of Teuton guns, and make them meek,
Ere they again may chance to speak—
If wings, O God, will do these things,
Then give us wings.
If great, destroying wings might stay
Munitions in their hurried way,
Or hold a reënforcement back
By dropping ruin on its track,
Or yet set free the pent-up hell
Of depots filled with shot and shell,
Or swiftly give eternal sleep
To ships that prowl the nether deep—
If wings, O God, will do these things,
Then give us wings and still more wings.
If fast, avenging wings might cast
On German cities such a blast
Of desolating death and pain
