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To Belgium, 1914
The boast of legions, and the boast
Of them that foster slaves for sons,
The triumph of the huger host,
The vaunt of more gigantic guns—
These for an hour may fill the air
With cries of the primeval lair.
Of them that foster slaves for sons,
The triumph of the huger host,
The vaunt of more gigantic guns—
These for an hour may fill the air
With cries of the primeval lair.
The fame of freedom and the fame
Of them that dared deny the accurst,
The glory of the least in name,
Who steeled their souls to battle first—
These are the crown of noble strife,
Man's hope and his enduring life.
Of them that dared deny the accurst,
The glory of the least in name,
Who steeled their souls to battle first—
These are the crown of noble strife,
Man's hope and his enduring life.
The doom of heroes and the doom
Of them who shed the innocent blood
Are sundered still in yonder tomb
Beneath the all-enshrouding mud;
The scourge of earth in earth shall rot,
But faith shall live when fear is not.
Of them who shed the innocent blood
Are sundered still in yonder tomb
Beneath the all-enshrouding mud;
The scourge of earth in earth shall rot,
But faith shall live when fear is not.
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