THE BATTLE OF LANGEMARCK
When men shall say who saved the day in years that are to be;
When veterans back from war's grim track again abide with me;
When Peace regains her throne and reigns, and silent are the guns,
I'll think with pride of those who died and say They were my Sons.
I sent them from their peaceful tasks, those strong young sons of mine;
I saw them swinging down the street, I saw them stand in line.
My unbronzed of the counting-house, my sun-tanned from the farms,
I sent them forth, sons of the North, my gallant men-at-arms.
With summer's fading rose they went, I well recall the day;
The gold was on the maple leaf, the birds were on the spray,
And through the long white wintertime I waited for the spring
For word to tell me how they served their country and their King.
And then I heard the tolling bells and saw the flags half-mast.
Why should I weep in springtime with the long, white winter past?
And why are all the people stirred and what is it they say?
My boys have dared, have fought and shared the glory of the fray.
Across the sea, afar from me, they've met the dreaded Huns
At Langemarck, in Flanders, my gallant northern sons.
Near Ypres, in the lowlands, three thousand miles away,
Across the wave, my children brave, have died—but saved the day.
In grim array that April day, entrenched the Allies lay,
To bar the path of Prussian wrath that fumed to reach Calais;
And Ypres town, half battered down, they'd sought with longing eyes,
For they had sworn that very morn to take it as a prize.
And breathing there the battle air beneath the warm sunshine
From Peschendelle to Policapelle, Canadians held the line;
Then, sudden as the avalanche that rips the mountain side,
The battle broke, and through the smoke they met the German tide.
They watched the fume-filled cloud-bank rise and spread its
stifling rack;
They saw the Belgian veterans and gallant French fall back;
They heard them cry, they saw them fly as men by fiends pursued;
They heard the shout, they saw the rout before that cloud,
hell-brewed.
In such a plight, as veterans might have blanched before and failed,
They stood uncowed with spirits proud and hearts that never quailed.
Surprised, amazed, a moment dazed, in that tremendous hour,
Like living rocks they met the shocks of mad Germanic power.
They saw the wide breach wider grow, when men in terror fled;
They saw the eager foe leap on o'er the dying and the dead;
And by that foe and through that gap they saw an Empire fall;
Then, in the breach, to front the foe, they threw their living wall.
They threw their living breasts between to stem the German tide,
My volunteers of Canada—they fought as vet'rans tried.
They fought the boast of Wilhelm's host; they met them hand to hand,
My young men of the counting-house, my ploughboys from the land.
They came from ranches of the West, where plain and mountain call,
From down east way, by Fundy's Bay, from Don and Montreal;
Their feet had known the sea-walled street, where ocean
mists hang gray,
And one to four, though stricken sore, they kept the foe at bay.
The air rained death by bomb and dart, the earth belched death below
By shining blade and hand grenade and death by poison slow.
Three days of hell, with shot and shell, they fought
'neath moon and sun;
The Belgian plain was strewn with slain, Canadian and Hun.
Ye troubadours—who sing of wars and brave deeds handed down,
When you will sing how for the King they fought near Ypres town,
Tell how they fought and nobly wrought like Paladins of old;
Tell how my sons retook the guns and won their spurs of gold.
And you will tell how Birchall fell as calm as on parade,
How on they bore amid the roar in that wild charge they made,
Where Julien's wood in moonlight stood when midnight met the morn.
Tell how they died, my brave, my pride, on that field battle torn.
They went not forth for gain or gold, 'twas not for such they died.
They fought for right 'gainst armed might that covenants defied.
Pure was their quest, to serve the best, their banner they unfurled
For that high plan, the rights of man, the freedom of the world.
The feet that press'd my ample breast, the eyes that loved my pines,
Will know no more my welcome shore, but still their glory shines.
Sing, troubadour, let thy song soar, sing with a voice divine
Of how they saved the day and braved the despot of the Rhine.