Classic Poem

Back , Back, across the Marne again,
We hurled the wanton foe;
The Huns took up fresh guns, to pour
More woe on those below.
The cannon rumbled, overhead
The shells ripped to and fro;
In ghastly glare, the signal flare
Outlined the old Chateau.
Within, the gassed and wounded men
Were crowded to the doors;
American—and German, too,
In halls and on the floors—
Men shocked by shells and mad with fear
Or gasping, choked for breath,
While surgeons filled with pity—
Fought grimly there with death.
The motors sped amid the roar
Over the moonblanched road,
To leave the bleeding at the door
And speed for another load.
There massed—in turn they waited,
Incomparably brave,
The men who gave their life-blood
Democracy to save.

The midnight found the yellow moon
On high in a starless dome,
In mellow light, the white cross showed
With its charges, far from home.
Then suddenly, its rays were cleft—
A buzzard, black as night
Whirled, and swooped, and nearer came
To take its aim aright.
With blinding flash, and deafening roar,
A bomb, descending, crashed:
A tent was torn and slit to bits,
And whistling missiles flashed.
The maimed left beds and crawled beneath;
Their bandages were sundred,
The shelled men yelled and ran amuck,
—Another bomb then thundered.
Twin-motors, rhythmic, vibrant, roared
Three-hundred metres high,
The surgeons worked with blanching cheeks—
The shrapnel hurtled by;
A third terrific crash then rent
The Chateau window-sashes,
—The clouds of acrid smoke arose
Amid shrieks and blinding flashes;
But now the anti-aircraft guns
Their target find at last;
The whir of wings becomes more faint—
The vandal scurries past.

Began again,—love's labor—
The maimed souls to retrieve—
From under beds and all about,
The suffering to relieve.
The tranquil moonlight lingered on
To flood with its calm rays
The hospital and workers brave
So worthy of high praise.
The German cannon boomed aloft,
But ours boomed louder still;
The Prussian foes were on the run—
To run through God's own mill.