God of Battles, look down and protect him ! Lord, his heart is as Thine — let him Hve !
But the mitrailleuse sputters and stutters, and riddles him into a sieve.
Then I thought of my sins, and sat waiting the
charge that we could not withstand. And I thought of my beautiful Paris, and gave a last
look at the land. At France, my belle PVance, in her glory of blue sky
and green field and wood. Death with honor, but never surrender. And to
die with such men — it was good.
They are forming — the bugles are blaring — they will cross in a moment and then . . .
When out of the line of the Royals (your island, mon ami, breeds men)
Burst a private, a tawny-haired giant — it was hope- less, but, ciel ! how he ran !
Bon Dieu please remember the pattern, and make many more on his plan !
No cheer from our ranks, and the Germans, they
halted in wonderment too ; See, he reaches the bridge ; ah ! he lights it I I am dreaming, it cannot be true.
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