For surely it's a weary while since first before your eyes
That old Belfry rose against the sunset.
You held council at your quarters when the budding Alexanders
And the Pickel-haubed Cæsars gave their reasons.
Was there one amongst that bristle-headed circle of commanders
Ever ventured the opinion that a little town of Flanders
Would hold you pounded here through all the seasons?
You all clasped hands upon it. You would break the British line,
You would smash a road to westward with your host,